Frothingham waited a few seconds, then went into the hall and leaned carelessly on the banister where it commanded a view of the front door. He chuckled. Not the pompous and liveried butler was opening it, but Senator Ballantyne himself in his impressive livery of the “plain people.” And Frothingham grinned as his great hearty voice--how different, how much more natural, than his usual voice--rolled out a “Why, hello, boys! Hello, Jim! Hello, Rankin. How d’ye do, Mrs. Fisher. Glad to see you, Miss Branigan. The maid wasn’t about, so I thought I wouldn’t keep you waitin’. Come right in and take off your things. Ladies, I’m sorry to say my wife’s run off and left me--had to go to a dinner where the President and his wife are to be. You know, we ain’t allowed to decline. But we won’t miss her. My oldest girl Sue’s in the parlour. You remember Sue?” They all went into the “parlour”--that is, the little first-floor reception room, which had been partly refurnished, or rather, dismantled, for the occasion. The bell rang. Frothingham chuckled again, as he saw, not butler nor manservant nor Senator, but a neatly dressed upstairs girl, without a cap, hasten to open the door. As he heard the rustle of skirts on the stairway leading to the sleeping rooms, he prudently strolled into the smoking room. When he went up to dress Hutt said to him: “Beg pardon, my lord, but my, it’s queer, the dinner party they’re ’avin hin the little back room.” Frothingham went on shaving. Hutt took silence as permission to gossip. “They’ve sent hoff hall the servants, hexceptin’ the maids, my lord. They’ve got heverythink on the table at once and they’re waitin’ on themselves.” “Last night,” said Frothingham, “you gave me a shirt with a spot on the collar. You’re getting careless and impudent, Hutt.” When he reached the parlour Mrs. Ballantyne and Ysobel were waiting--Mrs. Ballantyne ablaze with rubies and diamonds, Ysobel slim and white and golden in an expensively plain white dress with golden spangles. Mrs. Ballantyne rang for a servant. “See that the doors leading into the hall downstairs are closed,” she said. The servant returned and announced that the way was clear. The three descended the grand stairway rapidly, entered the carriage, and drove away--“with two on the box.” Presently Ysobel laughed. “You should have seen Susan, Lord Frothingham,” she said. “She was rigged up in a black alpaca made with a basque.” “Alpaca?” asked Frothingham. “What’s that? And what’s a basque?”