The telephone interrupted them. Fliss answered it in the omnipresent hope of something interesting, and it seemed to galvanize her drooping spirits. As if it were necessary to touch up her appearance in order to get her spirits into action, at the first words she heard she twisted back her hair and drew her negligee around her with her free hand. Her face, so listless a moment before, began to sparkle--to live again--and her voice changed from its discouraged tone into one which fairly sang with interest and desire to please and to coquet. “Of course you didn’t get me out of bed--no, not tired at all, thought it was fun--I’m glad you liked to dance with me--so do I--I’d love to. What do you suggest?--The music there is good, but the food really too terrible--why I think so, who else is going?--to-morrow night, then, about eight-thirty--yes, you can find it easily enough if you can read numbers. We’re flat dwellers, you know--cliff dwellers, you might say--208 Gladstone Street, Flat H. That’s three flights up--if you groan I’ll meet you with a glass of water--all right--good-by.” Smiling still, clinging to the atmosphere of jocularity, Fliss hung up the receiver. Her mother watched her without questioning. It was curious that there was not any of the eager curiosity in her face which animates most women in contemplation of their daughter’s flirtations. Mrs. Horton had been well trained to keep out of things. Perhaps she felt that even her daughter’s successful marriage would mean nothing to her. She would be organized and managed through the proper things to do, but there would be no confidence, no dependence. So she waited for Fliss to speak. Fliss did, though more in reflection than as if anxious to produce any effect on her listener. “Funny--I didn’t know he was at all taken with me. I only met him last night. Mother, I’ve simply got to have that red georgette mended before to-morrow night. I haven’t a rag to wear and maybe if that were fixed up a little--it isn’t dressy at the Palladium and with my black hat I could make the georgette do.” “Maybe Ellen can do it for you to-night before she goes.” “I’ll ask her. The sleeves ought to be shorter too, you know. Maybe she could cut them and I’ll help her with the sandwiches if she does and wipe the dishes for her.” They seemed to forget that Ellen’s labors at Mrs. Horton’s party were given as favors. Mrs. Horton’s face had brightened at her daughter’s new tone of co-operation. She even ventured a question and was answered without rebuff. “Who was it, Flissy?” “Why, it was Matthew Allenby. You wouldn’t know, mother, but he is the hardest man in town to get to notice you. He’s not a boy, you know. The man must be nearly forty and a bachelor. I’d never met him till last night; Owen introduced him and we had three dances. He dances horribly and is perfectly crazy about it. He’s a mining man--scads of money--and lives alone somewhere. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if----”