"It's like papa and me said last night, Birdie--a girl makes no mistake when she follows her parents' advice. Marcus Gump's own mother told me when I was introduced to her at Hirsch's yesterday afternoon, you're the first girl he ever took out more than two or three times." Birdie snuggled deeper in her chair and stretched her arms with the gesture of Aurora greeting the day. "Mamma," she said, softly, "what do you think he--he said I looked like last night?" "What?" "He said--he said--" Mrs. Katzenstein paused in her dusting. "He--said--Aw, mamma, I can't go telling it--so silly it sounds." "_Ach!_ For nonsense I got no time--such silliness for two grown-up children! That gets you nowhere. Plain talking is what does it." But suddenly the thridding and thudding of Mrs. Katzenstein's machinations died down. It was as if a steamboat had turned off its power and drifted quietly into its slip. She tiptoed to the table and straightened the cover, arranged the shades until they were precisely even one with the other, gave the new-made bed a final pat, and tiptoed to the door. "I forgot to order my finger-rolls for this afternoon," she said. * * * * * At two o'clock guests began to arrive. A heavy sleet clattered against the windows; the sky and the apartment houses across the way were shrouded in cold gray. Birdie drew the shades and tweaked on the electric lights; tables were grouped about the parlor, laid out with decks of cards, pencils and paper, and small glass dishes of candies. Mother and daughter had emerged from the morning like moths out of a chrysalis. Mrs. Katzenstein's black crepe-de-Chine, with cut-jet trimmings, trailed after her when she walked. She greeted her guests with effulgence and enthusiasm. "Come right in, Carrie! Tillie, take Mrs. Ginsburg's umbrella. I bet you got your winning clothes on to-day, Carrie; I can always tell it when you wear your willow plume and furs." Carrie Ginsburg flopped a remonstrating and loose-wristed hand at Mrs. Katzenstein. "Go 'way! That glass pickle-dish I won at Silverman's three weeks ago is the last luck I had. Your mamma's the winner--ain't she, Birdie? At my house she always carries off the prize. I bet I helped furnish her china-closet." "You should worry, Mrs. Ginsburg, when your husband owns the Cut-Glass Palace!" "You can believe me or not, Birdie, but Aaron's that particular if I take so much as a pin-tray out of stock he charges it up! When you get such an honest husband it's almost as bad as the other way. He don't get thanks for it." "Birdie, take Mrs. Ginsburg in the middle room and help off with her things. Hello, Mrs. Silverman! You're a sight for sore eyes. Why wasn't you down at the Ladies' Auxiliary on Wednesday? It was grand! Doctor Lippman spoke so beautiful, and there was coffee in the Sunday-school rooms after." Mrs. Silverman deposited a large and elaborate muff on the table and unbuttoned her full-length fur coat.