‘I suppose I’ll have to go,’ says Susan, who is evidently terrified at the idea, crumpling up a small note between her fingers—a most courteous little note sent by Lady Forster this morning, Monday, the third of August, to ask Miss Barry’s permission for Susan to lunch at the Park. She—Lady Forster—had met her charming niece yesterday, and had induced her to promise to come to them on this, her brother’s birthday. And she hoped Miss Barry had not quite forgotten her, but would remember that she was quite an old friend, and let her come and see her soon. It is a pretty little note, and delights Miss Barry; yet Susan finds no pleasure in it, and now sits glum and miserable. ‘Go!’ cries Betty. ‘I should think so. Oh, you lucky girl!’ ‘Would you like to go, Betty, if it were your case?’—this wistfully. Oh that it were Betty’s case! ‘Is there anything on earth that would keep me away?’ cries Betty enthusiastically. ‘What fun you will have there! I know by Lady Forster’s eyes that you are safe to have a good time. I think’—gloomily—‘she might have asked me too.’ ‘I wish she had,’ says Susan fervently. ‘If—I had one of you with me, I should not feel half so nervous.’ ‘What makes you nervous?’ asks Carew. ‘Well, they are all strangers, for one thing—and besides’—rather shamefacedly—‘they will be very big people, of course, and at luncheon there will be entrées, and dishes, and things I have never even heard of, and’—almost tearfully now—‘I shan’t know what to do.’ ‘There are only two things to be remembered really,’ says Mr. Fitzgerald slowly but forcibly. ‘One is not to pick your teeth with your fork, and the other is even more important: for goodness’ sake, Susan, whatever you do, don’t eat your peas with your knife. All that sort of thing has gone out—has been unfashionable for quite a year or more.’ ‘Oh, it’s all very well for you to make fun of it,’ says Susan resentfully. ‘You haven’t to go there.’ ‘And is that what you call “well for me”? I wish I was going there, if only to look after your manners, which evidently, by your own account of them, leave a great deal to be desired. By-the-by, there is one thing more I should like to impress upon you before you start: never, Susan—no matter how sorely tempted—put your feet on the table-cloth. It is quite a solecism nowadays, and—’ ‘If you won’t go away, I shall,’ says Susan, rising with extreme dignity. But he leans forward, and catching the tail of her gown just as she is gaining her feet, brings her with a jerk to her sitting position again. After which they all laugh irrepressibly, and the _émeute_ is at an end. ‘What a lot of servants they had in church!’ says Betty, alluding to the all-absorbing guests at the Park. ‘I suppose that tall woman was Lady Forster’s maid?’ ‘Yes, and the little woman was Mrs. Prior’s. By the way, that squares matters. Mrs. Prior has grown several yards since last year.’ ‘It seemed to me that each maid sat behind her own mistress.’