Everything was in train, the invitations sent out and accepted, the house in full bustle of preparation, every one occupied and amused, when, to the astonishment of his family, Mr. Dirom arrived upon a visit. “I thought I’d come and look you up,” he said. He was, as he himself described it, “in great force,” his white waistcoat ampler, his watch-chain heavier, himself more beaming than ever. His arrival always made a difference in the house, and it was not perhaps an enjoyable difference. It introduced a certain anxiety--a new element. The kind and docile mother who on ordinary occasions was at everybody’s command, and with little resistance did what was told her, became all at once, in the shadow of her husband, a sort of silent authority. She was housekeeper no longer; she had to be consulted, and to give, or pretend to give, orders, which was a trouble to her, as well as to the usual rulers of the house. Nobody disliked it more than Mrs. Dirom herself, who had to pretend that the party was her own idea, and that she had superintended the invitations, in a way which was very painful to the poor lady’s rectitude and love of truth. “You should have confined yourself to giving dinners,” her husband said--“as many dinners as you like. You’ve got a good cellar, or I’m mistaken, and plenty of handsome plate, and all that sort of thing. The dinners are the thing; men like ’em, and take my word for it, it’s the men’s opinions that tell. Females may think they have it their own way in society, but it’s the men’s opinion that tells.” “You mean the males, I suppose,” said Doris. “Keep to one kind of word, papa.” “Yes, Miss D., I mean the males--your superiors,” said Mr. Dirom, with first a stare at his critic and then a laugh. “I thought you might consider the word offensive; but if you don’t mind, neither do I.” “Oh, what is the use of quarrelling about a word?” said the mother hastily. “We have had dinners. We have returned all that have been given us. That is all any one can expect us to do, George. Then the girls thought--for a little variety, to fill the house and amuse everybody----” “With tea and toast--and hot-water bottles, I hope to put under their feet. I’ll tell you, Phyllis, what you ought to do. Get out all the keepers and gardeners with warm towels to wipe off the rain off the trees; and have the laundresses out to iron the grass--by Jove, that’s the thing to do; reduce rheumatic fevers to a minimum, and save as many bad colds as possible. I shall say you did it when I get back to my club.” Phyllis and Doris looked at each other. “It might be really a good thing to do. And it would be Fun. Don’t you think the electric light put on night and day for forty-eight hours would do some good? What an excellent thing it is to have papa here! He is so practical. He sees in a moment the right thing.” This applause had the effect rarely attained, of confusing for a moment the man of money.