The hostess, then, with a certain righteous complacence, lowered her eyes to her cocktail glass.
It was the first time, so carried away had she been with this new, intoxicating feeling, that she had really noticed what she was eating--how she was eating it.
She was eating her oysters with her after-dinner coffee spoon!
The tiny-pronged oyster fork was lying there on the cloth, untouched!
An icy chill of mortification crept down her spine, spread out through her whole being. She had made a mistake--SHE, the hostess!
A whirlwind of mortal shame stormed round and round within her. If only she could faint dead away in her chair! If only she could weep, and summon mother! Or die! Or even if she could sink down under the table and hide away from sight. But she didn't know how to faint; and hostesses do not weep for their mothers; and, in real life, people never die at the crucial moments; nor do they crawl under tables. All she could do was to force herself at last, to raise her stricken eyelids and furtively regard her guests.
They were all--ALL of them--eating their oyster cocktails with their after-dinner coffee spoons!
Missy didn't know why, at that sight, she had to fight off a spasm of laughter. She felt she must scream out in laughter, or die.
All at once she realized that Mr. Brown was speaking to her.
“What's the matter?” he was saying. “Want to sneeze?”
That struck her so funny that she laughed; and then she felt better.
“I was just terribly upset,” she found herself explaining almost naturally, “because I suddenly found myself eating the oyster cocktail with the coffee spoon.”
“Oh, isn't this the right implement?” queried Mr. Brown, contemplating his spoon. “Well, if you ask ME, I'm glad you started off with it--this soupy stuff'd be the mischief to get away with with a fork.”
Archibald Chesney wouldn't have talked that way. But, nevertheless, Missy let her eyelids lift up at him in a smile.
“I'm glad you didn't know it was a mistake,” she murmured. “I was TERRIBLY mortified.”
“Girls are funny,” Mr. Brown replied to that. “Always worrying over nothing.” He returned her smile. “But YOU needn't ever worry.”
What did he mean by that? But something in his dark eyes, gazing at her full, kept Missy from asking the question, made her swiftly lower her lashes.