DORIS'S FIRST DINNER-PARTY.
That quarter of an hour before dinner, which to people who are used
to it is generally rather a bore than otherwise, is quite an
amusement to Doris, whose only experience of dinner-parties hitherto
has been a bird's-eye view, obtained by hanging over the balustrade,
of the guests filing into the dining-room. To-night the girl feels
all the importance of being for the first time an actual participant
in the entertainment; and flushed with the consciousness of her own
dignity in having to assist her mother in receiving their friends,
and the proud knowledge that she is wearing a properly-made dress,
she feels there is at last some advantage in being the eldest girl of
the family. A long peal at the bell, and Doris rushes hastily across
to her mother.
"Do you _really_ wish me to talk to every one, mother, and divide my
attentions between them all, as I have seen you doing?"
"Yes, dear, of course. You will soon take it up and get accustomed
to the ways of society. I want you to see a little in your own home
before coming out next season, so that you may gain a little
experience; otherwise I should not let you dine with us at your age.
I don't know, I am sure, what your aunt will say to what I suppose
she will call my injudicious haste in bringing you forward. She
considers eighteen quite the correct age for introducing girls, but
six months the other side--"
"Dr. and Mrs. Benson," announces Rankin; and Mrs. Merivale, followed
by her daughter, goes forward to receive the first guests. The
rector takes immediate possession of his host, and getting him on to
the rug before the fire enters into an animated discussion with him
on the prime minister's speech of the previous night; dashing into it
so suddenly that Doris, who is standing by, is inspired with the idea
that they must have begun this conversation some time during the same
day somewhere, and having perhaps been interrupted, have now taken it
up again at the exact point at which they left off. Mrs. Merivale
and the rector's wife being seated together on a sofa talking softly
about their respective families, Doris roams about the room a little
until another loud peal at the bell causes her to retire a little
behind her mother's chair, in order to be in readiness when the next
visitors are announced. This time it is Colonel and Mrs. Danvers and
almost close upon them are ushered in Mrs. and Mr. Hugh Horton and
Captain Hall, as if they had all come together. There is quite a
buzz of conversation in the room now, and Doris finds herself seated
by Mrs. Danvers, with Captain Hall and Hugh standing before them,
laughing and chatting as if she had been accustomed to this sort of
thing all her days.
"Well, how do you think you will like your first dinner-party,
Doris?" inquires Hugh, going round and leaning over her chair.
"O, I think it will be jolly. I am enjoying it all so far; only if
mother sends me down with one of the old fogies the dinner part of
the performance will be awfully dull. You take me down, Hugh, _do_;
then we can discuss the tableaux and the party, you know. We have
got a lot settled to-night, and the carpenter is coming to-morrow to
see about arranging the room. It only remains to be decided which we
shall choose."
"All serene!" replies the young fellow. "I'll take you down if I
can, Doris; but your mother may have other views for me, you know.
Ah! here come some more. I say, Doris, is Honor coming down
to-night?"
"No--that is, yes," hurriedly answers Doris, rising as the door is
thrown open, and "Mr. and Mrs. Paget" and "Lady Woodhouse" are
announced.
"Why, bless my heart, child, what does this mean?" exclaims the
latter lady, bearing down upon her niece, and lifting her eye-glass.
"What does _what_ mean, aunt?" inquires Doris demurely, and meeting
the astonished stare of her aunt with unmoved gravity.
"Why, your being down here, dressed up in a gown which I am quite
sure Miss Renny was never guilty of making. You are never going to
dine?"
"Yes, I am, aunt, of course, or I shouldn't be down here at all.
Mother says she means me to appear a little at home before really
coming out. She wants me to get a little into the ways of society."
"Ways of fiddle-sticks, _I_ should say!" rejoins Lady Woodhouse
tartly. "In my young days one was never seen or heard of until
properly introduced. Let me see, how old are you, child--seventeen,
eighteen?"
"Seventeen and a half, aunt."
Lady Woodhouse holds up her hands in horror. "Not even eighteen!
What is the world coming to? But there, your mother is one of the
most injudicious women I know, and always will be, I suppose. Well,
Mr. Hugh Horton, and how are you? I suppose you two young people are
going down together, eh?"
"No such luck, I'm afraid. I believe I'm to take one of the other
ladies--Mrs. Danvers, in fact."
"Nothing of the sort!" exclaims this energetic lady. "I have made up
my mind you shall take me, young man. Go over and tell your mother,
Doris, that I insist upon going down with Mr. Hugh Horton. Then we
will see if we can't contrive to sit next to you and your escort.
Mind now, child, when you see me leaving the room, you follow; then
we shall manage, I daresay. Ah! here comes Sir Peter--last, as
usual. Now I suppose the party is complete. Run, Doris, or you will
be too late."
Almost before Sir Peter has greeted his host and hostess, the door is
once more thrown wide, and the announcement "Dinner is served" brings
the assembled guests to their feet. Doris is standing obedient,
close by her aunt, who has already taken forcible possession of Hugh,
when a cheery, manly voice from behind says "Now, Miss Doris, your
mother tells me I am to have the honour of taking you in to dinner on
this auspicious occasion of your first appearance in public;" and
Colonel Danvers stands before her with smiling face and outstretched
hand.
"I couldn't come and speak to you before," he explains, "for your
father and the rector pinned me at the other end of the room and
dragged me into a political discussion."
"O, I am so glad I am to sit beside you!" exclaims Doris with genuine
pleasure. "I was dreadfully afraid it would be Captain Hall; and he
is so stupid, you know. It takes him about five minutes to get out
the most ordinary remarks with his silly affected drawl."
"Now, Doris;" and Lady Woodhouse turns to leave the room, closely
followed by Colonel Danvers and her niece, Mrs. Merivale and Sir
Peter Beresford bringing up the rear. As Doris and the colonel turn
the corner of the stairs a smart wrap on the former's head causes
them to look up to the flight above, where they descry Molly, armed
with a battledore, hanging over the balustrade. "Hush! don't say
anything. How is Doris behaving?" she says with breathless
inconsistency. Colonel Danvers looks up laughingly and nods a
greeting. "O, pretty well, considering;" and Doris adds, "Do go
away, Molly. Did you actually dare to rap my head with that thing?"
But Molly, seeing that her mother is close at hand, disappears
mysteriously, and there is much scuffling and giggling heard on the
next landing, where evidently the others are collected also.
Although Doris finds herself seated between Hugh and her favourite
the colonel, she is so dazzled and confused with the brightness of
the scene and the incessant flow of talk that she at first sits
perfectly silent.
With the assistance of Colonel Danvers she gravely studies her
_ménu_, he explaining the meaning of some of the elaborate names of
the dishes, which to her, fresh from the school-room, are as Greek.
Presently Mrs. Benson, who is on the other side of the colonel, takes
up his attention for a time; and as Hugh and Lady Woodhouse are now
carrying on a spirited conversation on her right, Doris quietly takes
a look all round the table.
There is old Mr. Paget sitting next to Mrs. Horton, with his
table-napkin tucked up over his shirt-front, looking as if he had not
tasted food for the last month, such undivided attention is he giving
to his soup; Mrs. Danvers is carrying on a rather one-sided
flirtation with Captain Hall; and good-natured Mrs. Paget is talking
with all her might to old Sir Peter, who is looking worried to the
last degree by the palpable exertions of the good lady to make
herself agreeable and entertaining.
"Why, how quiet we are!" suddenly remarks the colonel, looking down
at the bright face beside him.
"Yes, I should think so," says Doris laughing. "It's a terrible
ordeal, the responsibility of having to keep one's self in order, you
know, and do all that is right and nothing that is wrong. Do you
remember your first dinner-party?" she continues.
"Yes, I remember it only too well; I have reason to, I assure you."
"Why? Did anything dreadful happen?"
"Well, yes; I thought it dreadful. What! no champagne?"
"I don't know that mother would like me to have it; I told her to
'hail' when anything important was likely to happen, but she is so
taken up with Sir Peter that I believe she has forgotten all about
me. Never mind, I'll telegraph to father."
"No, you need not do that!" exclaims the colonel, as well as he can
for laughing. "Say 'yes' the next time it comes round, and I will
take the responsibility. There, I see Rankin looking this way, I'll
beckon him. Some champagne for Miss Doris, please," he says, and in
another moment her glass is filled with the sparkling, foaming wine,
at which she looks half frightened however.
"Well, now, what were you going to tell me about your first
dinner-party?" she asks. "What dreadful thing was it that happened?"
"Well, I must tell you that I had to take a severe-looking old
dowager in to dinner that evening. She was very rich, I suppose, for
I remember that the flashing of her diamonds made me quite nervous,
especially as she had a sharp way of suddenly turning round to speak
to one with a kind of jerk, which made me jump, and more than, once I
nearly dropped my spoon or fork, or whatever it chanced to be. I
must also mention that this good lady was also very fat and very
ugly. Well, matters went on pretty well altogether until dessert. I
had just had my glass filled with port, when suddenly a voice on my
right said, 'Mr. Danvers, may I trouble you to crack these filberts
for me?' I turned so suddenly, that before I saw what I was doing my
elbow had overturned the glass of port, and away it went in one
remorseless stream down the old lady's gown. I was so horrified at
the awful catastrophe that I sat helpless, as if stunned, and the old
lady was just about to pour forth a torrent of wrathful reproaches on
to my defenceless head, her eyes meanwhile flashing as much as her
diamonds, when a man sitting on the other side of her (a fellow of
about my own age now) suddenly jumped up, seized a decanter of
sherry, and saying hastily, 'Allow me, madam,' he quietly and
deliberately poured a good half of its contents upon the gown where
the darker wine had left a deep red stain."
"Good gracious!" exclaims Doris with wide-open eyes, "was that to
take the old lady's attention from off you?"
"Well, yes and no," says Colonel Danvers taking up a pear and slowly
peeling it with great nicety; "but the fact is I didn't wait to see,
for the much ill-used lady, on receiving what she thought to be an
insult added to the injury she had sustained, flew, so to speak, at
this gentleman, one Major Carpenter; and seeing that for the moment
my very existence was forgotten, I must confess that I was cowardly
enough to slip out of my place unperceived and into the hall, where a
good-natured young footman, who had seen the whole thing, I suppose,
opened the library door, remarking as he did so, 'There's a nice fire
in here, sir.' You see, I couldn't go into the drawing-room when
even the ladies had not left the table."
"Poor old lady!" says Doris, cracking nuts perseveringly; "she _must_
have been put out with such outrageous behaviour on the part of _two_
gentlemen. Now, don't you think so?"
"Well, I don't know. You say 'poor old lady,' but you never give a
thought to the agonies of mind which _I_ suffered. You are rather
hard on _me_, I think."
"Well, but you _were_ rather cowardly, by your own confession you
were, to run off and leave Major Carpenter to bear the full brunt of
the old lady's displeasure. O yes, it certainly was _very_ bad of
you!"
"Ah! yes, I suppose it was," says the colonel, leaning back in his
chair; "and yet, Doris, since that time I have stood before a
cannon's mouth without flinching. I have ridden across an open plain
with, not cannon, but shot of all description 'to right of me' and
'to left of me,' without so much as a friendly shrub to protect me
from the sight of the enemy. Oh! I assure you, that was a very warm
position in more senses than one. However, here I am still, safe and
sound; but I verily believe if I spilt a glass of port upon another
old lady's dress I should feel just as inclined to turn coward and
run away as ever, for the truth must be told, Doris, ever since that
eventful night I have felt a mortal antipathy, not unmixed with fear,
in the company of fat, cross old ladies."
Doris sits silent for a few seconds, giving her attention to the pear
which Colonel Danvers has just put upon her plate. Then she says,
"You haven't told me yet what your friend threw the sherry upon the
dress for?"
"No, neither I have. Well, the sherry it seems, if poured over a
ready-made stain of port-wine, takes it out, only leaving a sort of
ring round the place, which, I suppose, can be easily removed with a
little ordinary cleaning. Somebody explained afterwards to the old
lady why Major Carpenter had done it, and in a few days he received a
note from her, thanking him for the service he had rendered her on
the occasion of Mrs. Mordant's dinner-party, and begging to apologize
for any little annoyance she might possibly have shown when the
accident occurred. Ever after that evening she designated me as
'that young man, Mr. Danvers,' whilst my friend was 'that charming
Major Carpenter.' There's your mother, Doris, signalling for the
ladies' departure. You must tell me all about these theatricals in
the drawing-room afterwards, will you?"
Arrived upstairs, Doris makes at once for a secluded niche draped
with curtains in one of the windows, wherein she knows she will find
Honor ensconced, probably with a book.
The book is at a discount this evening, for Regy Horton, a fair,
delicate-looking boy of seventeen, has already arrived, and he and
Honor are deep in a discussion about some picture they have lately
seen, painting being an art of which they are both passionately fond.
"Now this is really delightful!" exclaims Doris, throwing herself on
the wide window-seat beside her sister. "We will just keep here by
ourselves until the gentlemen come up, and then I will fetch Hugh and
Colonel Danvers, and we will all talk over the 27th."
"That's all very well, Doris, but you can't do just as you like
to-night, you know. You will have to talk to people; bless you, your
duties are not _half_ over yet. Here comes mother now to fetch you.
There, didn't I say so?"
"Doris, you must not hide yourself in a corner," remonstrates Mrs.
Merivale, coming up to the little group; "you must come and do your
share of talking. And have you brought any of your songs down? I
shall expect you to sing by and by."
"O, mother, I _can't_--I can't really! I should sink through the
floor. Besides, Molly is not here to accompany me; and she is the
only one who can, decently. Honor's a goose at accompaniments."
"Never mind, dear, we will see," says Mrs. Merivale vaguely. "Come,
Honor, and you too, Regy; we can't have any more whisperings behind
curtains when as yet there is no one to amuse the ladies."
So Doris and Honor are both dragged out of their corner, much to
their chagrin, and there is a suspicion of a pout on the rosy lips of
the former as the three advance into the middle of the room.
Later on, when the gentlemen have come up, and tea and coffee have
been served, Doris, with much mystery, beckons Colonel Danvers over
to the little group consisting of herself, Honor, and the two Horton
boys.
"You _will_ be the 'old woman,' won't you?" gasps Doris excitedly.
"You would do it so beautifully. And you _promised_, you know, to do
anything we wanted; now, didn't you?"
"A very rash promise apparently. May I be permitted to inquire to
what 'old woman' you are referring?"
"Why, the 'old woman' who lived in a shoe, to be sure. Honor and I
have talked it all over, and if we dress you up in one of nurse's
gowns, with an apron and cap, you will look _lovely_!"
"Upon my word, I feel highly complimented. I hope I shall not be
considered inquisitive if I ask whether this old woman was considered
handsome or not? By the by," adds the colonel with a crestfallen
look, and stroking his moustache, "how shall I dispose of this
commodity? You will never be so despotic as to command me to cut it
off, will you?"
Both the girls cry simultaneously "Oh, no, of _course_ not!" and Hugh
adds reassuringly, "Oh, that's nothing; you can flatten it down
easily with a little cosmetic, and it won't show at all if you powder
your face after."
"Very well, then. I will undertake to promise anything in that line
if one of you girls will consent to be in my custody with a view to
receiving the first whipping. Really," adds the colonel laughing, "I
don't think the picture will be half bad if there are plenty of
children forthcoming and the shoe is well managed. What are your
plans concerning it, Hugh?" and the two proceed to enter into a deep
discussion relative to the height, depth, and width thereof, when
suddenly Honor and Doris are electrified by the sight of Molly
entering the room, arrayed in a white frock matching that which Honor
wears. Molly has a roll of music under her arm, and with the
greatest self-possession in the world she marches up to the grand
piano and lays it down. She then stands as if awaiting further
orders, with flushed face, bright sparkling eyes, and hair tumbling
over her forehead and ears and curling down upon her neck in rather
wild but pretty confusion.
"Good gracious!" exclaims Doris aside to Honor, "what can it mean?"
"It is very plain to _me_ what it means," replied Honor. "Didn't you
see the music she brought in with her? That music is _yours_, my
dear,--your songs; and mother has sent for Molly to play the
accompaniments. So now you can't escape."
"Well, I really call that _mean_ of mother!" exclaims Doris. "Molly,
why weren't you in bed and asleep, you wretched child, like any other
reasonable being? then you _couldn't_ have come down, you know."
"Mother sent me a message not long ago," replies Molly promptly, "to
say I was to get dressed and to look out some of your nicest songs,
and come down when I was sent for. So of course I was arrayed in my
white frock, with more speed than elegance, I'm afraid, for my sash
is all awry, and I can't reach round to do it for myself; and," she
adds, lowering her voice mysteriously, "I have actually come down in
odd shoes. Look!" holding out first one foot and then the other.
"One rosette is nearly twice as large as the other, and I verily
believe one shoe is kid and the other patent leather! It _is_--look!
Then it is your shoe I caught up, Honor, and that accounts for it
pinching so horribly; why _will_ you persist in having such small
feet? Well, I must take care not to show both feet at once, and then
it will be all right--they're both nice shoes of their kind."
"Why didn't you go back and change them?" inquires Doris turning over
the songs.
"I never knew they were odd until I was on the landing outside the
door, and Rankin, as soon as he saw me, threw the door wide open, so
I couldn't do anything but walk in and make the best of it."
"Doris, will you sing us something, dear?" says Mrs. Merivale from
the distance; and Doris, somewhat reassured by her feeling of
complete confidence in her young accompanist, resigns herself to her
fate with a tolerably good grace. Gounod's graceful little chanson
'Au Printemps' is the first the girls select from the goodly pile
which Molly has brought down, and the effective accompaniment with
the fresh young voice soon draw an appreciative group round the
piano. 'The Sands of Dee' is next placed upon the stand by Colonel
Danvers, and Molly, nothing loth, starts off at once with the prelude
without ever consulting Doris's inclination in the matter.
[Illustration: DORIS SINGS "THE SANDS OF DEE."]
One or two other songs quickly follow, and then some of the guests
take their leave, while one or two, Colonel Danvers and old Sir Peter
being amongst the number, go up and speak kindly to Molly, who, now
that her duties are over, is standing a little abstractedly by the
piano, running her fingers noiselessly up and down the keys.
"What a pity the Hortons had to leave so early," says the colonel to
Molly. "With you here to accompany so well we might have prevailed
on Hugh to sing. I do so like of all things to hear his tenor voice
in 'Molly Bawn,' and also the immortal 'Sally in our Alley.'"
"One would think he could sing nothing else," remarks Molly, "by the
way in which he persists in dosing us with those two, and especially
the former. I am always wanting him to learn others--there are such
heaps of pretty tenor songs--but it's no use; he will keep on with
those and other old ones. He says none of the new songs can hold a
candle to them, but I don't know--I believe it is laziness, really."
The example of the first departures being quickly followed by others,
the room is soon cleared of all the guests, save Sir Peter Beresford,
who being passionately fond of music, begs his hostess to allow Molly
to sit up five minutes longer that she may play him one more piece.
Mrs. Merivale looks doubtfully from Molly to the clock and then back
again.
"Well, sit down, Molly, and play something to Sir Peter--you know
which are his favourites,--then you must all three run away off to
bed instantly. Here is Doris yawning behind her fan, and Honor looks
whiter than her frock, if anything. I don't know what father will
say, I am sure."
"O, let them stay a bit longer," says indulgent Mr. Merivale, and
crossing over to the piano he seats himself beside his three girls,
and listens with no little pride to Molly's musicianly playing. The
piece ended, Mrs. Merivale keeps to her word, and hardly allowing Sir
Peter time to thank Doris and Molly for the musical treat which he
declares they have given him, she bids her daughters say
"good-night," and with a kiss to each, dismisses them.