“Is it true that Mr. West is so wicked, Uncle Doug?” Fanny asked. “The newspapers say awful things about him.” “Well, the newspapers say awful things about everybody. They say awful things about me.” “Then they tell great big lies,” Fanny cried, rushing forward and throwing her arms around her uncle’s neck. “Fanny,” Mrs. Briggs remonstrated, “you’ll get your dress all ruffled.” “Well, never mind,” said Fanny, philosophically, and she smiled at her uncle. “I’d just like to meet someone that had been talking about you.” “Gee, it’s a good thing you aren’t a man,” Guy remarked with a shake of his head. “Won’t she be a terrible little boss when she gets married?” Briggs exclaimed, with a knowing look at the young fellow. “I’m going to be just like Auntie,” said Fanny, and Briggs laughed aloud. “Then you’ll have to begin to change mighty quick.” The door-bell rang and a few moments later the first guest appeared in the drawing-room. During the next few moments several other guests arrived and Fanny was kept busy helping her aunt to keep them amused until dinner was announced. The announcement was delayed by the tardiness of the Secretary of State, who was known for his punctuality in business and for his indifference and unpunctuality in social matters. When, finally, the great man entered, walking quickly but maintaining, nevertheless, an air of deliberateness and suavity, Fanny breathed a sigh of relief. She turned to Franklin West, who had taken his place beside her. “I’m starving,” she said. “You poor child.” He looked down at her with his fine dark eyes. “And yet I’m terribly frightened.” “At what?” he said with a smile. “Oh, all these wonderful men with their queer wives. Why do great men marry such funny women, do you suppose?” “Be careful, little girl,” West whispered. Fanny shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not very diplomatic, am I?” “Perhaps you’ll learn to be as you grow older,” he said, smiling again. “Diplomacy usually comes with age. It’s only the very young who can afford to be frank. It’s one of the graces of youth.” Fanny flushed. “I believe you are making fun of me, Mr. West.” “Oh, no,” West replied, gallantly. “I’m merely telling you the truth.” The butler had entered and announced dinner and the procession was about to start for the dining-room. “Don’t you think this is positively _languishing_, Mr. West?” said Fanny, as she took the arm offered her, and when he laughed aloud, she went on: “It’s been the dream of my life to go to a dinner-party.” She sighed deeply. “And yet there’s something sad when your dream is realized, isn’t there?” “Well, I must say you’re complimentary, Miss Fanny,” West exclaimed. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean anything personal to _you_.” “What did you mean then?” “Well, I guess I mean that there won’t ever be any first dinner-party for me again. I’m just foolish, that’s all.”