“’Somebody has been lying in my bed—­and here she
is,’ cried the Little, Small, Wee Bear, in his little, small,
wee voice.” 

          
                                                      —­THE THREE BEARS.

One of the nicest men in New York was Mr. John De Puyster Hepplewhite.  The chief reason for his niceness was his entire satisfaction with himself and the padded world in which he dwelt, where he was as protected from all shocking, rough or otherwise unpleasant things as a shrinking debutante from the coarse universe of fact.  Being thus shielded from every annoyance and irritation by a host of sycophants he lived serenely in an atmosphere of unruffled calm, gazing down benignly and with a certain condescension from the rarefied altitude of his Fifth Avenue windows, pleased with the prospect of life as it appeared to him to be and only slightly conscious of the vileness of his fellow man.

Certainly he was not conscious at all of the existence of the celebrated law firm of Tutt & Tutt.  Such vulgar persons were not of his sphere.  His own lawyers were gray-headed, dignified, rather smart attorneys who moved only in the best social circles and practised their profession with an air of elegance.  When Mr. Hepplewhite needed advice he sent for them and they came, chatted a while in subdued easy accents, and went away—­like cheerful undertakers.  Nobody ever spoke in loud tones near Mr. Hepplewhite because Mr. Hepplewhite did not like anything loud—­not even clothes.  He was, as we have said, quite one of the nicest men in New York.

At the moment when Mrs. Witherspoon made her appearance he was sitting in his library reading a copy of “Sainte-Beuve” and waiting for Bibby, the butler, to announce tea.  It was eight minutes to five and there was still eight minutes to wait; so Mr. Hepplewhite went on reading “Sainte-Beuve.”

Then “Mrs. Witherspoon!” intoned Bibby, and Mr. Hepplewhite rose quickly, adjusted his eye-glass and came punctiliously forward.

“My dear Mrs. Witherspoon!” he exclaimed crisply.  “I am really delighted to see you.  It was quite charming of you to give me this week-end.”

“Adorable of you to ask me Mr. Hepplewhite!” returned the lady.  “I’ve been looking forward to this visit for weeks.  What a sweet room?  Is that a Corot?”

“Yes—­yes!” murmured her host modestly.  “Rather nice, I think, eh?  I’ll show you my few belongings after tea.  Now will you go upstairs first or have tea first?”

“Just as you say,” beamed Mrs. Witherspoon.  “Perhaps I had better run up and take off my veil.”

“Whichever you prefer,” he replied chivalrously.  “Do exactly as you like.  Tea will be ready in a couple of minutes.”

“Then I think I’ll run up.”

“Very well.  Bibby, show Mrs. Witherspoon—­”

“Very good, sir.  This way, please, madam.  Stockin’, fetch Mrs. Witherspoon’s bag from the hall.”