“Oh, well—­we don’t have it but twice a year!” Martie was folding the new curtains; presently she gave the neat pile a brisk, condensing slap with the flat of her hand.  “There now, look what your smart Nana and Mother did, Ted!” she boasted.  “And come here and give hims mother seventeen kisses and hugs, you darling, adorable, fat, soft, little old monkey!” The last words were smothered in the fine, silky strands under Teddy’s dark, thick mop, on his soft little neck.  He submitted to the tumbling and hugging, trying meanwhile to keep one eye upon the ship he had been building from an upturned chair.

Breathless, Martie looked up from the embrace to see a pretty smiling woman standing in the doorway, a wet raincoat over one arm, and a wet hat balanced on her hand.

“Hello, people!” said the newcomer.  “I’m drenched.  I don’t believe this can keep up, it’s frightful.”

“Hello, Adele!” Martie said, setting Teddy on his feet.  “Come in, and spread those things on the heater.  Sit there where your skirts will get the heat.  How was the matinee?”

“It was killing,” said Mrs. Dryden, establishing herself comfortably by the radiator.  She was a slender, bright-eyed woman of perhaps thirty, whose colouring ran to cool browns:  clear brown eyes, brown hair prettily dressed, a pale brown skin under which a trace of red only occasionally appeared.  To-day her tailor-made suit was brown, and about her throat was a narrow boa of some brown fur.  “Here, Teddy, take these to your mother,” she added, extending a crushed box half full of chocolates.  “The place was packed,” she went on, crunching.  “And, my dear!—­coming out we were right close to Doris Beresford, in the most divine coat I ever laid eyes on!  I suppose they all like to have an idea of what’s going on at the other theatres.  I don’t believe she uses one bit of make-up; wonderful skin!  There was such a mob in the car it was something terrible.  A man crushed up against Ethel; she said she thought he’d break her arm!  I got a seat; I don’t know how it is, but I always do.  We’d been running, and I suppose my colour was high, and a man got up immediately.  Nice—­I always thank them.  I think that’s the least you can do.  Ethel said he sat and stared at me all the way up to Fifty-ninth, where he got off.  He was an awfully nice-looking fellow; I’ll tell you what he looked like:  a young doctor.  Don’t you know those awfully clean-looking men—–­”

Martie, now changing Teddy’s little suit for dinner, let the stream run on unchecked.  Mrs. Curley, who did not particularly fancy Mrs. Dryden, had gone upstairs, but Martie really liked to listen to Adele.  Presently she turned on the lights, and led Teddy into the Cold Lairs, to have his face washed.  Adele reached for the evening paper, and began to peruse it idly.  When Martie came out of the bath-room, it was to hear a knock at the door.