He came face to face then with Mrs. Hattie and her daughter. These two ladies, also, were pictures of radiant loveliness—especially were they radiant, for every beam of light found an answering flash in the shimmering iridescence of their beads and jewels and opalescent sequins.

"Well, Mr. Smith, what do you think of my party?"

As she asked the question Mrs. Hattie tapped his shoulder with her fan.

"I think a great deal—of your party," smiled the man. "And you?" He turned to Miss Bessie.

"Oh, it'll do—for Hillerton." Miss Bessie smiled mischievously into her mother's eyes, shrugged her shoulders, and passed on into the music-room.

"As if it wasn't quite the finest thing Hillerton ever had—except the Gaylord parties, of course," bridled Mrs. Hattie, turning to Mr. Smith. "That's just daughter's way of teasing me—and, of course, now she IS where she sees the real thing in entertaining—she goes home with those rich girls in her school, you know. But this is a nice party, isn't it Mr. Smith?"

"It certainly is."

"Daughter says we should have wine; that everybody who is anybody has wine now—champagne, and cigarettes for the ladies. Think of it—in Hillerton! Still, I've heard the Gaylords do. I've never been there yet, though, of course, we shall be invited now. I'm crazy to see the inside of their house; but I don't believe it's MUCH handsomer than this. Do you? But there! You don't know, of course. You've never been there, any more than I have, and you're a man of simple tastes, I judge, Mr. Smith." She smiled graciously. "Benny says that Aunt Maggie's got the nicest house he ever saw, and that Mr. Smith says so, too. So, you see, I have grounds for my opinion."

Mr. Smith laughed.

"Well, I'm not sure I ever said just that to Benny, but I'll not dispute it. Miss Maggie's house is indeed wonderfully delightful—to live in."

"I've no doubt of it," conceded Mrs. Hattie complacently. "Poor Maggie! She always did contrive to make the most of everything she had. But she's never been ambitious for really nice things, I imagine. At least, she always seems contented enough with her shabby chairs and carpets. While I—"She paused, looked about her, then drew a blissful sigh. "Oh, Mr. Smith, you don't know—you CAN'T know what it is to me to just look around and realize that they are all mine—these beautiful things!"

"Then you're very happy, Mrs. Blaisdell?"