A story of the love affairs of half a dozen of the rich leisure class of New York City. The perfume of Eros is love, and love--or so-called love and its consequences--make the plot. Some of the characters lead "hard" lives in every meaning of the word.
wn as trotabout. The whole thing was severely plain, yet astonishingly smart. Sylvia was also in street dress. The latter was black.
They were in the parlor. For in New York there are still parlors. And why not? A parlor--or parloir--is a talking-place. Yet in this instance not a gay place. It was spacious, sombre, severe.
"And now," said Fanny, after the hat had been properly praised, "tell me when it is to be?"
"When is what to be?"
"You and Arthur?"
"I shall send a fish knife," said Fanny, savorously. "A fish knife always looks so big and costs so little. Though if I could I would give you a diamond crown."
"Give me your promise to be bridesmaid, and you will have given me what I want from you most."
"But what am I to wear? And oh, Sylvia, how am I to get it? I don't dare any more to so much as look in on Annette, or Juliette, or Marguerite. There are streets into which I can no longer go. I told Loftus that, and he said--so sympathetic