Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1912-01-21

till l really have to laugh at the joke on my
llustrious relatives. Whether they want to
or not, they have to stand by Lii! The only
vexatious thing is to see that if this sort of
thing goes on the news of my whereabouts
will get back to them, and then perhaps
shall be pulled back across the ocean again,
like bad little dog that has run away from
the concierge who was giving it the air,
when she gets hold of its leash.
For it S no joke found myself becoming
celebrated, in the most inconvenient way.
No sooner had the wireless, which was al
ways swapping and cracking on the upper
deck, finally brought the tugs to our assist
ance, than they began to occupy themselv :
with me-fancy, with me, Lii! Every d;
| was interviewed-it appeared there were
shoals of reporters on the vessel. Whether
or not | ought to answer didn't know; but
Mrs. Cobb told me it didn't matter: what
| didn't say they would make up, anyway.
One thing, however, l refused to tell them,
and that was the object of my voyage to
America. mysterious voyage of young
lady of quahty"-that was the way one re-
porter put it. No, Harriet was sacred like
Papa. l was not going to tell her name to
anyone, even to Mrs. Cobb.
WHETHER it was this secrecy, or jeal-
is certain that these last two days saw great
strides in our intimacy. 1t was the day
after the shaft broke, remember, that she
invited me to sit by her at table. The next
day she invited me to tea in her sute,-a
real little salon, all gilt and cupids. She
stuffed me with large fat chocolate candies
till | was nearly ILL., and showed me the mini
allure of the deceased Mr.. Cobb,-a thin,
sharp face, mostly chin. 1t appears that he
killed himself by overwork, about five years
ago, and left her fifty million dollars. She
spoke about him quite indifferently.
1t was not till the next day, when she in
vited me to move up from my dark little
room on the lower deck to one of the bed
rooms in her suite, that she began to speak
of matters next to her heart
First, position in society; secondly, her
on.-those are her two passions. When she
speaks of them, she keeps moistening her lips
with her tongue, and her eyes shine just like
the heroines of romance when they talk of
their lovers (the novels that read in my
Uncle Porthavens library.
On the third day after the accident, when
the tugs had arrived and the steel cables
were Tightening at our bow. Mrs. Cobb and
| were already established as dear and in
innate friends. And in the evening, sitting
together in our long chairs before her cabin
door, she spoke to me again of her two am
billions think of wanting to
know certain people and go to certain houses
as much as she does!
"Ill get into the inner circle if | have to
drop dead for it, she said, and frightened up
her jaw.
1t appears, after her husbands death, she
came to live in New York. and took a big
white marble palace right in the most chic
part of Fifth Avenue. But, in spite of all
her efforts, no one would know her. She
subscribed to charities, and sets of lectures,
and series of concerts, and all kinds of
strange things like that; but she never got
invited to put her foot inside single house
except old friends from Montana who had
come to New York to get into society like
her, who no more wanted to see her than she
wanted to see them. Now and then, every
little while, one of these old friends would
slip under the rope like children at fete,
and the other children outside would remain
gazing after as she lost herself in the glitter
ing crowd within, and asking one another
however she had managed to do it. In any
case, the poor little outsiders would know
that never, never again would they see their
dear friend more, unless they also managed
to squirm under that rope and follow her.
For Society it appears, has among Others
this resemblance to Heaven,-that those
who enter in never by any chance return to