But in the hall, as she drew on her cloak, her thoughts reverted to the
Driscoll fancy ball. What a blow if it were given up after she had taken
so much trouble about her dress! She was to go as the Empress Josephine,
after the Prudhon portrait in the Louvre. The dress was already fitted
and partly embroidered, and she foresaw the difficulty of persuading the
dress-maker to take it back.
"Why so pale and sad, fair cousin? What's up?" Van Degen asked, as they
emerged from the lift in which they had descended alone from the studio.
"I don't know--I'm tired of posing. And it was so frightfully hot."
"Yes. Popple always keeps his place at low-neck temperature, as if the
portraits might catch cold." Van Degen glanced at his watch. "Where are
you off to?"
"West End Avenue, of course--if I can find a cab to take me there."
It was not the least of Undine's grievances that she was still living in
the house which represented Mr. Spragg's first real-estate venture in
New York. It had been understood, at the time of her marriage, that
the young couple were to be established within the sacred precincts of
fashion; but on their return from the honeymoon the still untenanted
house in West End Avenue had been placed at their disposal, and in view
of Mr. Spragg's financial embarrassment even Undine had seen the folly
of refusing it. That first winter, more-over, she had not regretted her
exile: while she awaited her boy's birth she was glad to be out of sight
of Fifth Avenue, and to take her hateful compulsory exercise where no
familiar eye could fall on her.
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