her monogram in silver. It was a disappointment, therefore, to find that
Mrs. Fairford wrote on the old-fashioned white sheet, without even a
monogram--simply her address and telephone number. It gave Undine rather
a poor opinion of Mrs. Fairford's social standing, and for a moment she
thought with considerable satisfaction of answering the note on
her pigeon-blood paper. Then she remembered Mrs. Heeny's emphatic
commendation of Mrs. Fairford, and her pen wavered. What if white paper
were really newer than pigeon blood? It might be more stylish, anyhow.
Well, she didn't care if Mrs. Fairford didn't like red paper--SHE did!
And she wasn't going to truckle to any woman who lived in a small house
down beyond Park Avenue...

Undine was fiercely independent and yet passionately imitative. She
wanted to surprise every one by her dash and originality, but she could
not help modelling herself on the last person she met, and the confusion
of ideals thus produced caused her much perturbation when she had to
choose between two courses. She hesitated a moment longer, and then took
from the drawer a plain sheet with the hotel address.

It was amusing to write the note in her mother's name--she giggled as
she formed the phrase "I shall be happy to permit my daughter to take
dinner with you" ("take dinner" seemed more elegant than Mrs. Fairford's
"dine")--but when she came to the signature she was met by a new
difficulty. Mrs. Fairford had signed herself "Laura Fairford"--just as
one school-girl would write to another. But could this be a proper model
for Mrs. Spragg? Undine could not tolerate the thought of her mother's
abasing herself to a denizen of regions beyond Park Avenue, and she
resolutely formed the signature: "Sincerely, Mrs. Abner E. Spragg." Then
uncertainty overcame her, and she re-wrote her note and copied Mrs.
Fairford's formula: "Yours sincerely, Leota B. Spragg." But this struck