Miss Fawney was a little puzzled at first, but suddenly recollected what she liked most herself, so informed Mrs. Jones that Mr. Macfuss was very fond of _pâté de foie gras_, and also of oyster gumbo. “The gumbo I have prepared, my love, of course; but the potty dee foy graws I had almost forgotten. Gourmand has quantities of potties, as he is a Frenchman, and imports those articles from Paris direct. I think you said Mrs. Macfuss liked sherbet and lemon ice cream?” No; Miss Fawney liked vanilla best, and affirmed that Mrs. Macfuss was very partial to it. “Is she, indeed! Oh, Marian, I had ordered lemon!” cried Mrs. Jones, in dismay. “Come, we’ll go to Praline’s this instant and reverse it. And those pine apples. They must be rich. Smith! have the carriage round immediately; I’ll go up and put on my bonnet, Marian;” and when Mrs. Jones arrived at Praline’s her heart dilated as she saw in how much consideration she was held by her confectioner and his wife. They were all smirks and smiles, particularly as she constantly repeated “you know now, Mrs. Praline, that I mind no expense whatever.” And Miss Fawney called her an extravagant creature! “But I knew, Mrs. Jones, that when you did give a party, it would be a magnificent affair!” And so, indeed, it proved. The weather was fine and everybody came. Mrs. Macfuss meeting her own set, and seeing so much display, was reconciled to her new acquaintance. Mr. Macfuss, seeing a magnificent supper and drinking the finest of wines, shook hands with his host, and asked him to come and see him sociably. There was a pleasant combination of things. The host and hostess said they never would regret the ball, and Miss Fawney was profuse in her congratulations. At length they had reached the goal, and began to feel with Mr. and Mrs. Vincent Crummles, the sweets of popularity. Mrs. Jones who heard soon after to say that she had scarcely time to take her meals, people so thronged the house; and before she was quite aware of it, she had asked Mrs. Macfuss to come over and be intimate! * * * * * One evening, as Mrs. Hill and her brother stood together at the gate of her pretty cottage, a handsome equipage dashed by, filling with dust the mouths of the plebeian pedestrians on either side of the smooth road through Summerfield. Two ladies were on the back seat, while in front sat two little boys, looking very gravely at one another. The driver had on a coat filled with brass buttons—and this was called a livery; so the whole effect was very grand and imposing. “Who was that, Fanny?” said young Seymour; “whose carriage is that?” “The carriage belongs to Mrs. John Johnson Jones, brother. Did you not see her?” “I did not recognize her—she bowed, did she not?” “Not she, my good sir; she never bends so low. Could you not see how stiff the lady was?” “Then who did bow to you just now?” “Mrs. Macfuss,” said Fanny, smiling archly.