"Why, that great ballroom will look like Asbury Park in December," said I, "unless you have made some foolish blunder like asking your old friends."

"Never," she answered firmly. "I have made a list of just 600 names. My annual ball is to be a great gathering of all the clans, you see. Then I want to give it a cosmopolitan tinge, so I have asked representatives of each of the trades: one actress, one author, one artist, one clergyman, and a college professor. You see it will look as though I were able to ask just whom I chose, in spite of their social position."

With that she handed me a press copy of her list, and as my eye ran from name to name, I groaned. There was hardly a perfumery, a brokerage house, a breakfast-food, a real-estate firm, a bank, or a business combination of any kind in the city that was not represented.

"Why, these are the smartest people in town!" I cried. "And I am sure you don't know one-tenth of the lot, and that only half that number know you. How many do you think will come?"

"I cannot guess," she said calmly. "The cards went out only yesterday. It is a gamble, of course. If nobody comes, we shall move to Riverside Drive. If everybody comes, we go on with our new house on the avenue."

It was a pity, indeed, that that new house could not be finished in time. If money could have completed it, there would have been no question, but Coppe & Coppe, the architects, said they had to have at least three months to build such a palace. The designs alone took them ten days, so there was nothing to do but to have the affair at Flurry's. It is difficult at a public place like that to take from a private affair the air of one of these subscription things, for there is no change of scene, no change of actors, and were you not versed in socialology you could not tell Mrs. Plumstone's dance from one of those Wednesdays or Thursdays. So Mrs. Radigan was handicapped from the start; but she made a masterly stroke by giving the champagne contract to Willie Lite, making it his interest to gather in as many of his friends as possible. It was there that she won the battle, I suspect, and her calm demeanor in those awful minutes preceding the arrival of the first guests came, I believe, from her absolute faith in him. Radigan was terribly nervous. He said it would break his heart if all his polo in the fall, all his countless knocks and bruises and tumbles were to go for nothing, and the first of their annual balls be the last.

They had a dinner at home to a few of their "close friends," which included about one dozen, and nearly everybody they knew. The Williegilts and Miss Bumpschus had declined, which looked ominous, and the outlook was still darker when we arrived on the field of battle on the minute of ten, and for an hour had the great rooms to ourselves. There is nothing more depressing than the ballroom where, to the music of a big orchestra, a half-dozen men and women are cavorting around in lonely state. Dancing made easy is dancing made uninteresting, for take away the jam of whirling figures, the sweep of bedraggled trains beneath the feet, the stab of elbows, and the wild plunges of the nimbler footed, and you take away the dangers that make the sport.

So that was a deadly hour. But through it all, in the hush before the battle, Mrs. Radigan stood undaunted in the big reception-room, firm and masterful, while Radigan wandered aimlessly about adjusting his cuffs. Then the noble lord who stands in the entrance and announces the events, fired the first big gun. There was a swish of skirts and the name of Miss Bumpschus, $10,000,000 plus, resounding almost to the ballroom, indicated to the watchers there that the conflict was on and that victory was in the air. Miss Bumpschus was an hour late, apologized for being early, and came on to the dance with the much flustered Radigan. A pause. A hush. The noble lord was in action again, and Mr. Pomade, $1,000,000 down and five more sure to come, made his appearance. Mrs. Radigan was beaming and she had a right. At the heels of the exquisite Pomade came Count Popperwhistle, $1,500,000 minus and open to propositions. After him, a mob. The opera was over. From the street below sounded the shouts of a hundred coachmen, and elevator after elevator dumped into the hall all the flowers that bloom to-day in society. There were no last roses, no century-plants; I don't think the Van Rundouns were even asked, and I know the Rollers Club fellows were left out. Even the Monday Cotillons were almost forgotten, except for a few like the Mints and the Plumstone Smiths, who are in one set on account of their poverty, but have a hold on the other because of their family. Willie Lite had made good. While a great number had sent regrets, they all came, anyway, and where had been a weary waste of polished floor, there now was a whirling struggle for a foothold and breathing-space. All the Bumpschuses, the Wherry-Mints, the Mint-Wherrys, the Jack Twitters, the Willies and Bobbies, the Tommies and Harrys were there. Willie Lite dancing with Miss Veal, simple white and pearls, led at one end, while Plumstone Smith dancing with Miss Marie Antoinette Williegilt, led at the other. The favors were the finest that New York has ever seen, and our smart matrons will have to make inroads into their bank-accounts to beat them. The silver-bound whiskey-flasks for the men, I know, cost $25 apiece, and the carved ivory cigarette-cases for the girls were still more expensive. Then there were riding-crops and parasols and useful things like that, which really made dancing profitable.

The supper was as excellent as it was unpronounceable and indigestible, and Willie Lite must have made a good thing in commissions. But he deserved it. More, too, I thought, when I clipped this morning, from the journal that gives all the news that is worth printing, a list of those who were at Mrs. Radigan's first annual ball last night and are pledged to those to come. Here are a few of the names:

Mrs. E. Williegilt,
The Misses Williegilt,
Mrs. Robert Q. Williegilt,
Miss E. Bumpschus,
Mrs. Plumstone,
Miss Constance Wherry,
Miss Wherry-Mint,
The Misses Speechless,
Mrs. John Twitter,
Miss Clarissa Mudison,
Miss Tumbleton,
Mrs. Timpleton Duff,
Mrs. Hegerton Humming,
Mrs. Thomas Tattler,
Mr. E. Williegilt,
Mr. Williegilt Bumpschus,
Mr. J. Madison Mudison,
Mr. Plumstone Smith,
Mr. Cecil Hash,
Mr. Winthrop Jumpkin, 7th,
Mr. Humming,
Mr. J. Twitter,
Mr. Duff,
Mr. Tattler.