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"O dreadfully tight and wretched. Now if I have any breath left I will go on telling you who is asked for to-night. Aunt is coming for one, with the Pagets, you know. That means a party of three at once. Then the rector and Mrs. Benson. Now, let me see, with father, mother, and myself that is eight; and I am sure we are to be fourteen. O, I know—Colonel and Mrs. Danvers, Captain Hall, that's eleven: Mrs. Horton and Hugh, thirteen—now who is fourteen?"

"Why, Molly's old friend, Sir Peter Beresford," chimes in Honor. "I know he is coming, because I heard mother telling Rankin that he must be put up near the end of the table out of all the draughts. O, here comes Lane. I wonder what she will have to say to the capabilities of the new maid."

"Now, young ladies, sharp's the word. Turn yourself round, Miss Doris, and let me see if all's right;" and the woman proceeds to turn and twist her young mistress about with the scant ceremony of an old and privileged servant who, as she is fond of saying, "dressed and waited on your ma before ever you were born or thought of, my dears." Giving a pull here, and a twist there, Lane at length is pleased to announce that all is satisfactory.