Olivia Winters had been sent by the city editor of the Daily Tattler to get an account of the affair for her journal. Her reflections as she sat waiting to see the hostess, or some one in her behalf, were neither pleasing nor flattering. “All the world’s a fake,” she thought, “and the men and women merely fakirs. Within a stone’s throw of this place there is a collection of miserable huts. From what I have seen so far here, at least $15,000 has been spent on flowers, that will before tomorrow night have lost their fragrance. How many mouths would that feed, in this great, cold, heartless city, throbbing with the agonies of thousands! Ah, well, why should I moralize? I wish to heaven I could write this thing up as I feel, but to do so would be affronting fashion, and anything original regarding modern New York society, would mean my journalistic death.” Her reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Marie Salmon, who extended her hand graciously to Miss Winters, and said: “You are the representative of the Tattler?” “I am,” said Miss Winters. “The hostess of the evening presents her compliments to you, and begs that you will excuse her personal presence. She has delegated me to act for her in giving you what you desire for your paper.” “She could not have selected a substitute who would have better pleased me,” said Olivia, with perfect grace and self-possession. “You are very good to say so,” said Marie. “Here you will find a list of the invited guests. In this package is a cut of the host and hostess, as well as a picture of her diamonds. She informs me that she has already sent photos of some of the more striking decorations. In this envelope will be found a complete description of the costumes of the ladies. The number of carriages you will be able to procure from the ushers as you go out. She thinks it not advisable to say anything specific about the enormous amount of money spent on the affair, owing to newspaper talk about the terrible poverty prevalent in the city. Is there any other information you desire? If so, I shall be glad to give it to you.” “Have you given this matter out to any other paper?” “No. Our hostess said she would give it exclusively to you, as your paper had been the fairest in mentioning the affair in advance,” replied Marie. “Thanks; that is very good. You know we newspapers always adore a scoop,” said Olivia, and she smiled in satisfaction. “Why, what in the name of goodness is a scoop?” queried Marie. “When we print a good thing that other papers fail to get, we call it a scoop.” “Thanks for the information. May I not,” said Marie, “order some refreshments?” “No, thank you,” said Winters, with modest dignity, “I only accept hospitality under certain conditions.” “Be that as you wish,” said Marie, with equal dignity, “I had no desire to offend.” “I am sure of that, my dear young lady; yet even newspaper women have their scruples.” “Then I can serve you no further?”