The tabloid headlines said it all: "Mrs. Astor and Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish Caught In Less-Than-Respectable Gin Hall". It had started so innocently; I was passing out charitable literature to barmaids and Mrs. S-F was simply passing out. The word, Slumming, was mentioned.

Mr. Astor immediately came to my rescue and brought things back in line.

When Mr. Astor, though, mistakenly mentioned a certain manoeuvre I action to please him, Mrs. S-F--not easily mortified by any stretch of the imagination--fell into a dead faint. I checked the available exits and guided Mr. Astor to one.

We ended up safe at The Palace with the ever-present Baroness Seitzinger. The dangerous cold front that swept into Miami allowed designer sweaters, leather jackets, and furs to be paraded around. As much as Miami complains about temperatures plummeting into the fifties and even forties, they actually wait for those two days to come in order to drag out the fashion heavy artillery.

The Baroness is such a hoot. I knew I was back on home turf when she gave me a Royal First Aid Kit, "for all jewelry accidents", referring to my gash received from Mr. Astor's diamond ring last week. They are sort of occupational hazards in any palace.

In the end, all had returned to the old world elegance we have become so used to. Revolution?

What revolution?