"Wouldn't that be hurrying matters rather too much?" "We must hurry matters." "Why, mama?" "Sh! They're going to begin again." I was somewhat put out. What was the reason for such unseemly haste? I was quite shocked by it. It seemed really as if I were being thrown at the gentleman's head. I was in a hurry to know the why and the wherefore. I thought the concert would never end. After ages of waiting the second interval came, and I began again: "Mama, tell me why." "I can't tell you anything just now. It would take too long. I'll tell you all presently, when we get home. But if he's invited it must be to-night; and there's not a minute to lose--yes or no?" "Mama, you're hurrying me." "No, I'm not hurrying you. You are at liberty to decline." "Very well, then--yes." "Dinner on Thursday?" "Thursday will do very well." Between the third and fourth waltzes, mama said hurriedly to papa: "Invite him to dinner." "What day?" "Thursday." "All right." Papa has behaved with admirable docility and resignation. I never saw him in such a serious _rôle_ before. It is true that the music seemed to bewilder him so that he scarcely knew what he was doing. I felt restless, and thought: "There, now, he'll go and invite the wrong one." Nothing of the sort. He gave the invitation quite correctly, and it was accepted with enthusiasm. We left at midnight, and before we had fairly got away from Mercerey's I said to mama: "I see clearly that you are as anxious as possible that I should accept this man." "Certainly." "Then tell me--" "Just let me get my breath first. I am quite exhausted. I'll tell you everything when we get home." An hour later I knew all. It was the most extraordinary thing in the world. Yesterday morning at eight o'clock a maid awoke mama, and gave her a note marked "Important." It was from Madame de Mercerey, and was as follows: "I have a _migraine_ and can not leave my room. Come--come at once to see me. A splendid stroke of luck for Irene." Mama at once got up and went to Madame Mercerey. But I must leave the rest till to-morrow. We dine at eight o'clock. _November 27th._