clever he will, unconsciously, be led up from a discussion of that or other musical instruments to a chat on music, ballads, operas, in fact the very best he has to tell, the best he happens to know on that subject.  In this way we are able to rise above the trivial, worn topics of the day—­the usual make-talk of the multitude.  I am always very happy in the selection of my promoters.  I may not be very original, but I am quick to appropriate new ideas.  I rapidly get them into the line of march, ready for immediate use.

To be a “social success” one must be something of an actress.  Men usually expect a vast amount of acting from young women, who will, if they are discreet, certainly live up to that expectation.  Men are willing to be deceived, but it must not be a labeled deceit.  I go down the street and meet Mr. Seyhmoor; although I see him a block off, and before he sees me, yet I affect great surprise when he greets me—­a little start is quite effective.  The trifling little deception floods my face with color, which comes almost at my command.  It easily flashes upon him that I am indeed surprised, and betrayed into an expression of my delight.  He is flattered.  He joins me.  A batch of envious women watch my little triumph. That is

  =Flirting for Revenue Only=

Then a walk down the street, a talk of mere wordy nothings, but of deep and tender looks.  In point of words, a make-talk affair; in point of feeling, a vague shadowy suggestion of twenty delicious possibilities; in point of fact a walk without any serious results.  Calburt Young, a fascinating man-about-town, a semi-Bohemian, joins me at a fashionable ball.  He takes me away from the dancing-room (and the other men), for Bohemians never dance.  He finds, as only he can, some quiet unoccupied nook, a little out of the way, and yet a very proper place.  An effective spot environed by flowers, and palms broad and graceful, hung with dimly-lighted, richly-colored lanterns—­where you may see but not be seen, where you may hear the gayety and yet by it not be disturbed.  Music from the ball-room reaches me, and a delicate oriental perfume fills the air.  Calburt Young, handsome, silent, with a look of earnest appeal on his face, looks down into mine.  Not the man, but his manner, the situation, the music, the stealthy, intoxicating odor of perfume and flowers, the sway of each tropical leaf, the distant gayety, all surcharge my soul; gratify to the fullest extent my sensuous nature—­my love of the picturesque and the luxurious.  The temptation is strong to depart from my fixed principle.  But I do not yield.  I half extend my ungloved hand, white and ringless, murmur in a low voice suggestive of suppressed emotion, “You are very good to me!  I was tired; I am glad to have this rest—­and with you, Mr. Young!”

I am permeated with the deliciousness of the situation!  I am conscious of the magnetic something about me, drawing him near to me!  I can almost feel his hot, quick breath on my cheek where the color comes and goes.  He is within my power!  But I do not love him.  With an effort I banish the tender manner.  My voice, now a trifle cold, asserts itself in clear, even tones:  “Let us return; I am rested now.  Mr. Seyhmoor claims me for the next dance!”