Her Bad Taste

She was large and iinposing and carried herself with a most distiuguished air. Her stylish tailor made gown and jacket fitted to perfection, and the long Btole collar of Russian sable, loosened from her throat, sbowed a splendid diatnond stickpiu holding the fashioaable satin neckbaud. Her bands were white and shapely, with carefully kept nails, anj with only a single hoop of diamonds on oue flnger. The purse tbat lay beside her plate must have come from a Broadway silversmith it wassorich, yettastefnl, and the gloves that kept her pnrse company were French and of the best quality. All tbis a later comer and her vis-a-visat the table in the crowded restaurant noted while the waiter delayed with a luucheon order. When he was back, she of the grand air was ready for dessert. "You ruay bring me, "she eaidglanoing at the menu she held in her hand, "a meringuay. " "A what, madam?" asked the pnzzled waiter. "A meriuguay,"she repeated, with confldent emphasis. And this time the man caught her meauing. "Yes, madam," he replied, and vanished with an alertness that bespoke a desire for a moment's retireinent froru her eye. The moringue was duly brought and partaken of, and it was some small comfort to the disillnsioned vis-a-vis that, as it.s consuiner rose from the table she took out a hemstitched handkerchief, fanltlessly fine to be sure, but