"Mama, 'sh-h-h! the waiters know what to do."
Mrs. Coblenz turned back, the flush warm to her face.
"Say, for an old friend I can be my own self."
"Can we break the receiving-line now, Lester honey, and go down with everybody? The Sinsheimers and their crowd over there by themselves, we ought to show we appreciate their coming."
Mr. Goldmark twisted high in his collar, cupping her small bare elbow in his hand.
"That's what I say, lovey; let's break. Come, Mother Coblenz, let's step down on high society's corns."
"Lester!"
"You and Selene go down with the crowd, Lester. I want to take gramaw to rest for a while before we go home. The manager says we can have room fifty-six by the elevator for her to rest in."
"Get her some newspapers, ma, and I brought her a wreath down to keep her quiet. It's wrapped in her shawl."
Her skirts delicately lifted, Miss Coblenz stepped down off the dais. With her cloud of gauze-scarf enveloping her, she was like a tulle-clouded "Springtime," done in the key of Botticelli.