Year in, year out, the four seasons through, Mrs. Doffin had five Martinis for lunch, five for dinner, five in the evening after dinner, and refreshments in her room, between-times. Some ten million dollars lay to her account in various banks, I understood, but, since the death of her husband in 1932, she had devoted herself entirely to one form of enjoyment, if the pointed hats be excepted. Never soused, noisy, or shot--she was never remotely sober. Sometimes, late at night, if you came into the bar, you would see her lips move as she communed voicelessly with whatever shades or hallucinations accompanied the thirteenth or fourteenth Martini. Occasionally, in a moment of clarity, she would recognize this person or that--a waiter, the manager, Ricky, myself. She would nod regally then, wish you good morning, afternoon, or evening--approximately according to the time--and flick her fingers flirtatiously. She never bothered anybody. She was not bothering anybody now. She was sitting at her regular table, wearing a bright, vacant smile, and stuffing matches into her nose. She had placed twenty or thirty when I spotted her. She picked up another and delicately inserted it, pressing it up until its pink tip came even with the rest. "Curious," I said. Marcia and Paul craned their necks. They watched awhile. "I wonder how many it will hold," Paul said. "Another half dozen, I should think. She has a bit more room on the right side." "Does she light them when she gets a snoot full? Make quite a firework." "It's new," I answered. "First variation in ages." "Somebody should stop her!" Marcia said urgently. Paul's head shook. "On what grounds?" "Good heavens, Paul--!" Mrs. Doffin reached the point where neither nostril would contain another match. She tamped them pensively and nodded to herself. They protruded, I would say, the best part of an inch--all neat and even. Mrs. Doffin then removed her hat. It was the first time I had seen the full billow of her hair. It looked like excelsior on which paprika had been sprinkled. She set the hat on the seat at her side and glanced with a bright smile and opaque eyes at the whole earth. I suppose the waiters had failed to notice her new gambit owing to the fact that she, and her soundless palaver, were fixtures in the place, like the intruding girders and the gaudy horsemen on the walls. All the waiters ever saw was her glass, when she emptied it. She could have breathed fire, or come in tattooed, and they would have observed no change. From her hat, Mrs. Doffin withdrew a hatpin, long and as black as any of her garments or their accessories. This, with the utmost aplomb, she thrust through both her cheeks, hesitating only momentarily at the midpoint, evidently in order to get her tongue beneath the line of direction. One does not--her pleased look seemed to say--absurdly and clumsily impale one's tongue, in these little maneuvers. "Fred," I called at this point. "Mrs. Doffin needs you."