“She can’t escape men anywhere, can she?”

“N-no; but there will be a concentration of particularly good-looking and undesirable ones at Tuxedo this week.  That idle, horrid, cynical crowd is coming from Long Island, and I don’t want her to marry any of them.”

“Well, then, make her stay at home.”

“She wants to go.”

“What’s the good of an older sister if you can’t make her mind you?” he asked.

“She won’t.  She’s set her heart on going.  All those boisterous winter sports appeal to her.  Besides, how can one member of the family be absent on New Year’s Day?”

Arm in arm they strolled out into the great living room, where a large, pompous, vividly colored gentleman was laying down the law to the triplets—­three very attractive young girls, dressed precisely alike, who said, “Yes, pa-pah!” and “No pa-pah!” in a grave and silvery-voiced chorus whenever filial obligation required it.

“And another thing,” continued the pudgy and vivid old gentleman, whose voice usually ended in a softly mellifluous shout when speaking emphatically:  “that worthless Westbury—­Cedarhurst—­Jericho—­ Meadowbrook set are going to be in evidence at this housewarming, and I caution you now against paying anything but the slightest, most superficial and most frivolous attention to anything that any of those young whip-snapping, fox-hunting cubs may say to you.  Do you hear?” with a mellow shout like a French horn on a touring car.

“Yes, pa-pah!”

The old gentleman waved his single eyeglass in token of dismissal, and looked at his watch.

“The bus is here,” he said fussily.  “Come on, Will; come, Linda, and you, Flavilla, Drusilla, and Sybilla, get your furs on.  Don’t take the elevator.  Go down by the stairs, and hurry!  If there’s one thing in this world I won’t do it is to wait for anybody on earth!”

Flunkies and maids flew distractedly about with fur coats, muffs, and stoles.  In solemn assemblage the family expedition filed past the elevator, descended the stairs to the lower hall, and there drew up for final inspection.

A mink-infested footman waited outside; valets, butlers, second-men and maids came to attention.

“Where’s Sacharissa?” demanded Mr. Carr, sonorously.

“Here, dad,” said his oldest daughter, strolling calmly into the hall, hands still linked loosely behind her.

“Why haven’t you got your hat and furs on?” demanded her father.

“Because I’m not going, dad,” she said sweetly.

The family eyed her in amazement.

“Not going?” shouted her father, in a mellow bellow.  “Yes, you are!  Not going! And why the dickens not?”

“I really don’t know, dad,” she said listlessly.  “I don’t want to go.”

Her father waved both pudgy arms furiously.  “Don’t you feel well?  You look well.  You are well.  Don’t you feel well?”