hered in by a
neat little maid in frilled cap and apron and black sateen gown. You
will find your hostess in the parlor with half-a-dozen others, and,
think you have a glimpse into Japanese fairyland. The den is somewhat
denuded of its ordinary furnishings, but the bizarre posters still
remain on the walls, and the couch, covered with a scrawly Japanese
creton, is still in evidence. Wires are stretched from picture moulding
to picture moulding, and Japanese lanterns swing gayly from above. In
one corner a huge paper umbrella, dangling with unlighted lanterns,
bright hued and tiny, swings over a low tea table, at which sits one of
the hostess' friends in Japanese array. Her dark eyes, blackened into
almond-shaped slits, vie with her decorated hair in foreign effect. From
dainty little Japanese cups we drink the tea she makes for us and thank
fortune there is one woman in the world at least who dares trifle with
the conventional "at home" and eliminate its objectionable features.
While drinking your tea you nibble at rolled Tutti Fruitti wafers, munch
delicious home-made bonbons, stuffed figs and nougat (for which your
hostess is so famous), revel in a huge Japanese jar (strangely like a
familiar umbrella stand) which holds five great ragged yellow
chrysanthemums with stems nearly three feet long, and finally settle
yourself down to listen to some quaint little love song, with guitar
accompaniment, sung by a dear little maid with bronze-brown hair.

This hostess limits each "at home" to twenty-five, so small a number it
makes the average hostess smile, but, if necessary, gives four or five
through the winter, as she needs no service beyond that of her own maid,
making the expense marvelously small. She has many friends who feel as
you do, that one bid to a sociable little "five o'clock" in her
doll-house flat is worth all the receptions of a week on gay upper Fifth
Avenue.

The first Saturday evening in each month, from November until April, she
and her husband are at home to his bachelor friends and any young
married people who can endure the suffocating atmosphere. All the easy
chairs are pressed into service, the little iron lanterns blink
joyously, and story-telling, music and smoking are the order of the
evening. The light being dim, positions are uncertain and bachelor
manners prevail, so unrestrained jollity reigns, and though the people
in the other flats may hear the echoing laughter they pass it over with
a go