Well, the next day after Mrs. Tyler and her daughter arrived Mrs. Varley gave a very extensive invitation to the _ton_ of the village, to assemble at her house in the evening, to pay their respects and make the acquaintance of her most distinguished visiters. The invitation, of course, included Mr. Style, Mrs. Tower, and Jessie Lincoln, concerning whom they had unaccountably neglected to make any inquiries, strange as it may seem, when she was the object of such nervous anxiety.
From eight till nine, poor Charlotte sat on the sofa by the side of Miss Tyler, terribly dispirited, and eagerly watching for the announcement of the Rev. Mr. Style. Elizabeth rallied her in vain; she scarcely remembered to introduce her friend, and tried fruitlessly to be amused by Elizabeth’s coarse and unladylike satires on the really elegant company as they entered. By and by Charlotte and Elizabeth simultaneously started; Charlotte rose from her seat, and Miss Tyler suddenly seized her arm, as if to detain her till some surprise was explained, and leveled her quizzing-glass deliberately at a group who were that moment exchanging salutations with Mrs. Varley near the door.
“There is Mr. Style! that’s him! that splendid figure!” whispered Charlotte, who had neither eyes nor ears for any one else.
“Gracious, Charlotte Varley! what kind of company do you entertain, for mercy’s sake!” very audibly ejaculated Miss Tyler. “Upon my word, if there isn’t my _mantuamaker_, Jessie Lincoln, invited to a party to honor _us_, mamma! Isn’t that a pretty piece of impudence! Well, I did think you were genteel people, and decently aristocratic before—you Varleys!”
“Laud!” chimed the mamma, displaying her elegant row of porcelain, and fanning herself vigorously, “Who is the people that’s distinguished by such elustrious visiters as _sewing-women_, and takes ’em out into company? Don’t introduce _us_, Miss Varley!”
“Havn’t you got some tailoress girls, and school ma’ams stowed away somewhere, Lottie, that you are going to bring out, to give distinction to this _mélange_?” sneered Elizabeth, in a lower tone, with a most contemptuous smile, before Charlotte had time to recover from her confusion enough to apologize that the company was no more exclusively patrician.