Mr. Spragg was standing near her mother, who sat in a drooping attitude, her head sunk on her breast, as she did when she had one of her "turns." He looked up abruptly as Undine entered.
"Father—has mother told you? Mrs. Fairford has asked me to dine. She's Mrs. Paul Marvell's daughter—Mrs. Marvell was a Dagonet—and they're sweller than anybody; they WON'T KNOW the Driscolls and Van Degens!"
Mr. Spragg surveyed her with humorous fondness.
"That so? What do they want to know you for, I wonder?" he jeered.
"Can't imagine—unless they think I'll introduce YOU!" she jeered back in the same key, her arms around his stooping shoulders, her shining hair against his cheek.
"Well—and are you going to? Have you accepted?" he took up her joke as she held him pinioned; while Mrs. Spragg, behind them, stirred in her seat with a little moan.
Undine threw back her head, plunging her eyes in his, and pressing so close that to his tired elderly sight her face was a mere bright blur.
"I want to awfully," she declared, "but I haven't got a single thing to wear."
Mrs. Spragg, at this, moaned more audibly. "Undine, I wouldn't ask father to buy any more clothes right on top of those last bills."
"I ain't on top of those last bills yet—I'm way down under them," Mr. Spragg interrupted, raising his hands to imprison his daughter's slender wrists.