band's good old Irish name. She knew little or nothing of French, but somehow she rather liked the emphasis, crisply nasal, her visitor put upon the final syllable. Before the visit came to an end, she was mentally repeating her own name after Mrs. Smith-Parvis, and wondering whether Con would stand for it.
"What date did you say?" she inquired, abruptly breaking in on a further explanation. The reply brought a look of disappointment to her face. "We can't come," she said flatly. "We're leaving on Saturday this week for Washington to be gone till the thirtieth. Important business, Con says."
Mrs. Smith-Parvis thought quickly. Washington, eh?
"Could you come on Friday night of this week, Mrs. McFad-dan?"
"We could," said the other. "Don't you worry about Con cooking up an excuse for not coming, either. He does just about what I tell him."
"Splendid!" said Mrs. Smith-Parvis, arising. "Friday at 8:30."
"Have plenty of fish," said Mrs. McFaddan gaily.
"Fish?" faltered the visitor.
"It's Friday, you know."
Greatly to Mrs. Smith-Parvis's surprise,—and in two or three cases, irritation,—every one she asked to meet the McFaddans on Friday accepted with alacrity. She asked the Dodges, feeling confident that they couldn't possibly be had on such short notice,—and the same with the Bittinger-Stuarts. They did have previous engagements, but they promptly cancelled them. It struck her as odd,—and later on sig-
