we reached Paris. And then, my dear," faintly "I should not care for my husband to see me—seasick." (That was an inspiration.)

"Well, Elsie, I suppose you know best what you like. It looks queer, though. Honeymoons may not be fashionable in the very, very highest society; but, my dear, you don't belong to the very, very highest society."

"Don't dare to say that to my mother," I cried, "or she would kill you in her frenzied indignation."

I tried to believe that I was satisfied, but I was not. With all my superiority, I was disappointed.