“I’ve told Fred so much about you,” he said, “and he wants to see you, and I was going to have mother get you to sing; Miss Percy is so fond of singing, and such a good judge; and now everything is going wrong. The head caterer cannot come, and will send some one in his place, and most likely the crew will be drunk and serve ice cream first, and leave the sandwiches in the pantry, as they did at Alice Rogers’; and now you are not to be there, and I wish we were not to have the blow-out, and I don’t care if it rains cats and dogs to-morrow. I hope it will.” Having delivered this speech, which did not at all move either Mr. or Mrs. Grey, Herbert flung himself out of the house, with a feeling that he was a much-abused young man, and that without Louie the party would be a failure. CHAPTER IV THE MORNING OF THE PARTY “Yes, I hope it will rain,” Herbert said to himself as he went tearing along the road towards home. Just why he wished it to rain he did not know, except to spite somebody—his father, perhaps, who was so unreasonably bitter against the Greys, “the very nicest people in town, while Louie was certainly the prettiest girl, and would cast in the shade anyone, whether from Springfield or Worcester or Boston,” and he wanted Fred Lansing to see her. It was a decided shame that she was not coming. Yes, he hoped it would rain so hard nobody would come. It did not rain, but there was a shower in the night, which laid the dust and made the morning fresher and more delightful. “Just the time for a drive,” the judge said to his guests after breakfast was over. “We want to get away from this clatter, with things generally upside down and Susan so rattled she don’t know what she is about.” A part of the waiters from Worcester had come to look over the premises and make suggestions, and they were already in the kitchen and butler’s pantry and rousing the ire of the cook and housemaids with their criticisms. A florist was there with his assistants, and the rooms were full of palms and flowers and potted plants. Crash was being laid down for the dancing on a very broad and long piazza, which was screened from public view by wide awnings, which could be rolled up if the night proved hot, as it bade fair to do. At one end of the piazza the orchestra was to sit, and the piano had to be moved into its place, with chairs and rugs and divans for the lookers-on.