It was not because I am a major’s daughter that an invitation came to me one bright autumn morning, but because I was the curate’s wife. We were seated at breakfast when the “command” to meet their Excellencies was handed up. Just like the proverbial curate’s family we were laying in a foundation of stirabout, only _our_ porridge was swimming in thick yellow cream, and was daintily served. On the table, besides, was the purest heather honey, a few golden peaches, and hot rolls of crispy bread. “Thank goodness! a clergyman is always in full dress!” quoth the dear curate, as he pulled down his silk M.B. waistcoat. “But you, my dear Eileen, had better meditate on chiffons.” And meditate I did, until I was fairly puzzled. There was the white silk, and the pink one, the yellow brocade, with its beautiful train, and the simple muslin. I was very young at the time, and dearly loved finery. The real vital question of suitability turned on what the invitation meant. Were Lord and Lady L—— coming as royalty, or simply as themselves? The duchess alone could interpret her card, and so to the duchess I went. “Did you not notice that R.S.V.P. was omitted? Put on feathers and veils, and your best bib and tuckers,” said the dear old hostess. “’Tis as King and Queen their Excellencies come.” So, of course, the yellow brocade it had to be, with its low neck, and short topaz-trimmed sleeves. Now, though the curate’s wife was fairly well-to-do in the world, the curate would keep no carriage. It was quite out of the question to drive in a pony-trap to the Castle, so the duchess “loaned” one of her own state chariots! She did more, a few hours before dinner-time a square box was handed in at the Clergy House, containing a mass of copper-coloured William Allen Richardsons, arranged in the newest mode by the duchess’s head-gardener. Most of the house-party were assembled in the huge drawing-room when Mr. Giles, accompanied by his attendant satellites, threw open the door and announced— “The Reverend and Mrs. Smith.” It was blazing, too, with electric light, and sweet with perfume as I walked forward, to be encouragingly greeted by my dear old friend and patron. “Their Excellencies are not down yet,” she said kindly; “but you are just in time——”