THERE was to be a hop at the Grand Union that night, and I had got
tickets for it in virtue of my relation to _Every Other Week_. I must
say the clerk who gave them me was very civil about it; he said they were
really only for the hotel guests, but he was glad to give them to
outsiders who applied with proper credentials; and he even offered me
more tickets than I asked for.
Miss Gage was getting a dress for the hop, and it was to be finished that
day. I think women really like the scare of thinking their dresses will
not be done for a given occasion, and so arrange to have them at the last
moment. Mrs. March went with the girl early in the afternoon to have it
tried on for the last time, and they came home reporting that it was a
poem. My wife confided to me that it was not half done—merely begun, in
fact—and would never be finished in time in the world. She also assured
Miss Gage that she need not be the least uneasy; that there was not an
hour’s work on the dress; and that the dress-maker’s reputation was at
stake, and she would not dare to fail her. I knew she was perfectly
sincere in both these declarations, which were, indeed, merely the
expression of two mental attitudes, and had no relation to the facts.
She added to me that she was completely worn out with anxiety and worry,
and I must not think of her going to the hop. I would have to do the
chaperoning for her, and she did hope that I would not forget what I was
sent for, or get talking with somebody, and leave Miss Gage altogether to
Kendricks. She said that quite likely there might be friends or
acquaintances of his at the hop—such a large affair—whom he would want to
show some attention, and I must take charge of Miss Gage myself, and try
to find her other partners. She drilled me in the duties of my position
until I believed that I was letter-perfect, and then she said that she
supposed I would commit some terrible blunder that would ruin everything.