"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?"
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."