“Green doesn’t become me to-day,” she said, “why didn’t you tell me? Take it off at once.” “Tell you? much good that would have done!” grumbled Mary, removing the obnoxious hat; “you wouldn’t have believed me.” “Get out my black velvet hat and a black silk suit,” said her mistress, ignoring the impertinent rejoinder. “You’ll not have time for your shopping if you wait to dress again, Madame,” objected the girl; “it is already half-past eleven, and the days are short. Your black velvet cloak and hat will not look amiss with the green dress.” The Madame yielded to these suggestions all the more readily because at that moment a joyous bark from Frisky announced that the carriage was in waiting. He sprang from the chair, rushed down to the outside door, and scratched and whined there till Kathleen ran down and opened it for him, when he immediately took possession of one half of the back seat, leaving the other for his mistress, who presently followed, having reached the lower floor, not by the stairs, but by the elevator, carefully lowered by the ever-ready Kathleen. Mary, without whom the Madame never stirred from the house, took the front seat, a handsome afghan and wolf-skin were tucked carefully about their feet by Rory, and the carriage drove off. For a short space the Madame puffed and wheezed in silence, then she spoke: “We’ll get the fringe first, and have it sent up; then the Christmas gifts. Mary, what do you think Miss Kemper would like?” “How should I now, Madame? I’m not acquainted with the young lady’s tastes,” returned the maid snappishly. She had a raging headache, the result of an almost sleepless night spent in efforts to undo the evil effects of the rich, heavy, evening meal, indulged in by her wilful charge. The Madame, who was feeling depressed and hysterical from the same cause, put her handkerchief to her eyes, shed a few tears, and whimpered: “It’s shameful the way I’m treated by you, Mary. There aren’t many ladies who would put up with it as I do.” “Handkerchiefs are always acceptable,” remarked the delinquent, ignoring the reproach, but giving the suggestion in answer to the query. Then, by way of salve to her conscience, she added: “It’s like your generosity to think of making a present to a stranger.” This restored the Madame to good-humor. She was generous, and she liked to have full credit for it. The day was very cold but clear and bright, and the city was full of life and activity. Vehicles jostled each other in the streets, pedestrians hurried hither and thither along the sidewalks, there was a grand display of holiday goods in the windows, and the stores were crowded with purchasers. The bustle and excitement were agreeable to Madame Le Conte, and she found much enjoyment in selecting her gifts and paying for them from her well-filled purse.