"If she wasn't so DAMNED girlish!" he used to say to himself. "Tell me," she said to him late one afternoon as they were driving home through the Champs Elysees; "is it true that servants' wages are lower in New York City than any place else in the country? I've always heard so." She was looking at people through her magnificent lorgnon, and people undeniably were looking at her. There were many wonderful women in the Bois that day, but none so worthy of a stare as she. Corky pricked up his ears. It looked like a "feeler." "Perceptibly lower," he said. "And food is higher, they say." "Ah," said he, "but so are the buildings." "How much do you think I could live on per year in New York!" "Why do you enquire?" "For instance," said she. It grated on his nerves when she used such expressions as "for instance." "Well, it depends on how well you intend to live." "I want to live as well as anybody else." "Then I should say that you couldn't very well manage on less than ten thousand a year." He knew he was equivocating but was fearful that if he said a hundred thousand she would take alarm. "That isn't very much," she said, with a perplexed frown. "I had an idea that if I wanted to live in style it would cost somewhere around seventy-five or a hundred thousand. I know a woman from Iowa who lives at the Ritz-Carlton and goes about some--although not in the real smart set--and she says it costs five or six thousand a month, just puttering. Maybe you've met her out in society. Her name is Bliggs." "Bliggs? Um! Name's not familiar. Of course, you CAN spend a hundred thousand easily in New York if you get into the right set," he said. "That's just the point," said she. "If I get into the right set. I've got ample means, Mr. Van Winkle, if--" "They scorn money," said he flatly. She drew in her breath quickly. "I suppose they do," she sighed. "Sometimes I really believe it's a handicap to have a lot of money." "I know a good many charming Western women who have married into the smart set," he said slowly. "And did they stick?" she enquired. "Stick?" he gasped. "I mean, did they make good--that is, were they PERMANENTLY received?" "Oh, yes! Some of them have become leaders. It's really only a matter of marrying the right man." She was silent as they drove across the Place de la Concorde. "I suppose it's almost out of the question unless one does marry into it," she said finally. "Or UP to it," he suggested. His sordid little heart was beating rather jerkily. "Won't you stop in and have tea with me?" she asked suddenly. He thought rapidly. "I'm sorry. I'm having tea with some New York people at the Ritz. Awfully sorry. People I shouldn't like to offend or I'd send an excuse. You understand, I hope." Her jaws were set. He shot a furtive glance at the thickly plastered face and inwardly pitied himself while outwardly rejoicing. "Some of the people who entertain baboons at dinner, I suppose," she said through compressed lips.