“But, my dear Kitty, I lack the Open Sesame to the Gotham Innermost—Money! Only the repeatedly-millionaired can pass the outer courts.” “There it is! Epigrams and bon-mots drop from your lips as pearls and diamonds used to tumble out whenever the good little girl in the Fairy-tale opened her mouth. As to millions of money—bah!” with a gesture of royal disdain. “Our best people are not the richest. The true New Yorker knows that. Of course one must live and dress well, but your husband’s means amply warrant _that_. Jack says cashiers get from ten to fifteen thousand dollars a year. Your face, your manner, and your talents are all the passport you require when once you are introduced. I claim the privilege of doing it. And, as an initial step, I want you and Mr. Cornell to dine with us to-morrow evening. I’ll ask six or eight of the nicest people I know to meet you. They’ll excuse the shortness of the notice when they see what a reason I have for calling them together. Put on a pretty gown and look your loveliest and bring along some music. I mean that you shall capture all hearts. I shall be grieved to the quick if you don’t. The hour will be seven—_sharp_. Punctuality is the soul of good humor in a dinner company. I must run away. I have an appointment with a tyrannical dressmaker at half-past ten; Mr. Lincoln’s Literature Class at eleven; a luncheon at half-past one; and afternoon tea, anywhere from four to six; a dinner party, and after that the opera. Such a whirl! Yet, as I say to Jack when he grumbles that we never have a quiet home evening—it is the only life worth living, as you’ll own when you’ve had a taste of it! (You _dear_ thing! it rests my tired eyes just to look at you!) Here’s Jack’s card for Mr. Cornell. I’m just dying to see him and if he is good enough for you.” “A great deal too good!” ejaculated Susie, earnestly, through this accidental gap in the monologue. “The dearest, most generous fellow!” “_Cela va sans dire_—with the Brooklyn model! I’m so happy that you are one of us, and no longer a pattern article. Good-by!” “There! I let her go without showing her the children,” reflected Mrs. Cornell, when she got back her breath. “But we had so much to talk of it is no wonder we forgot them. There are no friends like the old friends. How unjust we are sometimes! I came near not sending her my card because she had never been over to Brooklyn to see me all the while I was there. And Arthur advised me against doing it. He would have it that it is no further from New York to Brooklyn than from Brooklyn to New York. He predicted, too, that she would never come to see me here. He says there’s no other memory so short as that of a woman who has risen fast upon the social ladder. This ought to be a lesson in Christian charity to us both. Kitty’s heart is always in the right place.”