"They don't," said I. "The question is, how do you get to know them?" "Well, how?" "It's very simple," I explained. "When you are buying your property, see as many real-estate firms uptown as you can, for they have some very nice young men connected with them. All the cotillon leaders are in real estate or architecture, as dancing is a branch of their business. Then there are the brokers. Some of the smartest men in town are two-dollar brokers, and surely a great house like Radigan & Co. can make it worth their while to be polite. Why, there are dozens of ways you can collect acquaintances in New York. It is easy if you know how." "But I did not," said Mrs. Radigan rather sadly. "It has worried me dreadfully, too. Sometimes, since we have been at Westbury, it has seemed as though we must be dead. Of course, one or two people there have been very nice, but they were not the kind we care to know. Evidently, you have made a study of society." "Not at all," I protested. "It just happens that I have had a number of clients from Pittsburg." "Oh, I see!" she exclaimed, brightening, and, rising, she took my hand effusively. "You are certainly awfully kind, and I consider myself in luck to find you. You can count on us taking the house, and I hope we can count on your being there often." It seemed as though she was wasting no time about taking my advice, but there was no necessity of my enlightening her as to my own humble place. It would be delightful, charming, splendid, I averred, as we moved toward the door together. Simply social hyperbole, I thought at that moment. Truth, real truth, I vowed to myself at the next, when I happened to glance to the street, and there in the cab, gazing up at the office-window with a frown of impatience, saw a girl's face. "I will see you to your hansom, Mrs. Radigan," I said gallantly. "Oh, don't bother," said she. "I insist." So I seized my hat, and a moment later we stood together at the curb. "To Thirty-fourth Street ferry," she called to the cabby. "The Long Island Railroad," I shouted at the jehu, wanting to be of service of some kind, and give reason for my presence. The girl leaned out of the cab. "I thought you were never coming, Sally," she said petulantly. "This is my sister, Miss Pearl Veal," said Mrs. Radigan, not heeding her, but turning to me. I took the tips of the proffered fingers in mine, let them drop, and bowed. I stammered something--something inane, I suppose, but the girl gave me a lustrous smile just the same. "Warmish day," I ventured, more courageously. "Indeed," said she quietly, but still sweetly smiling. "Good-by," said Mrs. Radigan, holding out her hand. "You can count on me." "You can count on me," said I firmly. And the cab rattled away.