"One of the best in town," I declared with emphasis. "Thirty feet front, six stories high. It was built last January by Mr. Bull when he had wheat cornered. Subsequently the receiver sold it to my client, who took it on speculation." "It is stunning, but small," said Mrs. Radigan. "I should not care to live in it right along, but we can all squeeze into it for a few months, till the new one is done." "You have a large family?" I asked. "Three," she replied. "My husband, my sister Pearl, and myself. We shall keep our boy Jack in the country." "Why, you can have a floor apiece," I declared cheerfully. "Just look at the elevation." Mrs. Radigan raised her lorgnette and looked, but seemed to see nothing, though her gaze was intense and her brow knitted. "The entire fourth floor, you see, could be used by Miss Radigan," I ventured softly, to arouse her from her mood of abstraction. "Miss Ve-al," said she, suddenly abandoning the lorgnette and getting down under bare eyes to solve the mystery of the blueprint. "Is that funny white line the design of the wall-paper?" "It's the stairs," I explained. "As I suggested, Miss Veal----" "Ve-al," she corrected, looking up sharply. "V-e, ve--a-l, al--Ve-al. It's French." "Pardon me," said I abjectly. "Your sister, Miss Ve-al, could have----" "Oh, don't bother about the old plans," she cried, gently pushing the paper from her. "It gives me a headache to try to make them out. I'm sure you had them upside down. But I'll take your word for it that there's plenty of room to live in. But how about entertaining? How can one entertain in a box like that?" "There's a ballroom, as you see," said I, trying in vain to guide her eye to it. "Then, on the same floor, you see a large dining-room, a fair-size music-room, and a very fine salon." "Well," she returned musingly, "as we don't know a soul in town as yet, I suppose it will hold all our friends for a while, but when we get in----" "The new house will be done by the time you get in," I declared with considerable emphasis. "Certainly," said she pleasantly, not comprehending the hidden meaning. "Tell me, is that old Mrs. Plumstone's house next door?" "On the right," I replied. "The Hegerton Hummings are across the way, and the Jack Twitters have the French château on the corner." "But some common people called Gallegher are on the other side," said she. "My dear Mrs. Radigan," I argued, "some of the smartest people in town live on that block." "But the Galleghers might call," she ventured after a moment of hesitation. "Do not worry," was my retort. "This is not Kansas City. New Yorkers never call on their neighbors." "Wouldn't old Mrs. Plumstone?" she demanded, a touch of disappointment being evident in her tone. "Hardly." "Well, that explains it," she said with a sigh. "Explains what?" I asked. "Not a soul around Westbury has been to see me," she answered. "Do tell me, how do people get to know you in New York?"