I haven't seen a human being all day

"Do you know Mrs. Fairford too?" Undine asked eagerly; while Mrs. Spragg, impressed, but anxious for facts, pursued: "Does she reside on Fifth Avenue?" "No, she has a little house in Thirty-eighth Street, down beyond Park Avenue." The ladies' faces drooped again, and the masseuse went on promptly: "But they're glad enough to have her in the big houses!--Why, yes, I know her," she said, addressing herself to Undine. "I mass'd her for a sprained ankle a couple of years ago. She's got a lovely manner, but NO conversation. Some of my patients converse exquisitely," Mrs. Heeny added with discrimination. Undine was brooding over the note. "It IS written to mother--Mrs. Abner E. Spragg--I never saw anything so funny! 'Will you ALLOW your daughter to dine with me?' Allow! Is Mrs. Fairford peculiar?" "No--you are," said Mrs. Heeny bluntly. "Don't you know it's the thing in the best society to pretend that girls can't do anything without their mothers' permission? You just remember that. Undine. You mustn't accept invitations from gentlemen without you say you've got to ask your mother first." "Mercy! But how'll mother know what to say?" "Why, she'll say what you tell her to, of course. You'd better tell her you want to dine with Mrs. Fairford," Mrs. Heeny added humorously, as she gathered her waterproof together and stooped for her bag. "Have I got to write the note, then?" Mrs. Spragg asked with rising agitation. Mrs. Heeny reflected. "Why, no. I guess Undine can write it as if it was from you. Mrs. Fairford don't know your writing." This was an evident relief to Mrs. Spragg, and as Undine swept to her room with the note her mother sank back, murmuring plaintively: "Oh, don't go yet, Mrs. Heeny. I haven't seen a human being all day, and I can't seem to find anything to say to that French maid."