“Measles and whooping-cough--and her first love affair.”
“I believe you will find my clients unexceptionable,” said the principal, who was not fond of jesting upon serious subjects.
“But they really must send her photograph,” Mrs. Payne exclaimed as she rose, eager to convey the result of her interview to Gwendolyn. “And I think you may safely write to Mr. Mordaunt that if everything goes well he may count upon Mrs. Spencer West.”
“Mrs. Spencer West!” cried the principal, who, it will be recalled, was a reader of current prints. “Why, she is one of the most fashionable ladies in New York.”
“Was. But her being so long in mourning has shut her in, and it is desired by her friends to rouse her from--ahem--her grief,” went on Mrs. Payne nimbly. “We think she should have an object. You see, now, Mrs. Smith, how careful we should be to make no mistakes.”
“It is our aim to intermediate between only the most refined and cultivated principals,” replied Mrs. Smith, with a high-toned sniff.
“And it is understood that the matter is _strictly_ confidential.”
“That, Madame, is the very foundation-stone of our enterprise.”
“Good morning, then. Perhaps, not to lose time, you might write at once to Mr. Mordaunt.”
Whatever the principal of the B. I. W. N. wrote, it brought a quick response. Mr. Mordaunt was much gratified by her efforts in his behalf, begged to inclose a photograph of his daughter, and would be in New York on Sunday for the purpose of settling preliminaries with Mrs. Spencer West.
“He is terribly business-like,” said Gwendolyn, discontentedly. “But, dear me! the girl _is_ pretty.”
“‘Pretty’ is tame,” said Mrs. Payne, taking the picture from her friend. “She is beautiful, in a rather common way. Ugh! That frock cut half high, the hair done in a horn behind and stuck through with a dreadful ornamental pin! You should go to Paris, my dear, and put her in Pacquin’s hands. But how very mature she looks for seventeen. She is like one of our girls in her third season.”
“You can see ‘local belle’ written all over her. And those chains and rings and pins!” said fastidious Gwendolyn. “Oh! I could never do it in New York. And now to brace myself for that dreaded meeting with the fond papa!”