“Oh Lord, no! This sort of party would not be her form. Con would give them fits, and they would bore her stiff! This is the duty lot, that’s to give you a start, eh! Most of them have family prayers, and go to bed at ten o’clock. Later, I’ll have my own pals down, and they will keep the place lively. My mother’s set are infernally dull.” This was not an auspicious preparation, for a nervous bride, and her first house-party. “Now look here, don’t _you_ attempt to do anything,” he continued authoritatively; “leave all to Bates, the housekeeper. She’s got to run the establishment, that’s her job and what she’s paid for--she manages the servants, and engages and dismisses them, orders the meals, pays the tradespeople--so you have absolutely nothing to do but to sit tight, and make yourself agreeable.” The guests duly arrived; arrangements for their reception were complete, the best state bedrooms were open, the choicest greenhouse flowers were brought into the house, the silver service was displayed, everything was perfectly done, there was no hitch. Mrs. Fenchurch, brimming over with importance and curiosity, embraced her dearest Letty with well-assumed effusion. The Dowager Mrs. Blagdon merely gave her daughter-in-law a frozen kiss, and requested to be conducted to her room. The company assembled that night in the white drawing-room, was composed of the ‘dull’ people, with reposeful manners, who knew one another more or less intimately; several were closely related, and the women called one another by their Christian names. There was no loud, hilarious laughing, no rouge, no cigarette cases; the Dowager Mrs. Blagdon was majestic in velvet and old lace, Mrs. Fenchurch wore a hideous green costume, Lady Gaythorne, a too well-known black brocade. The most conspicuous figure on the occasion was the hostess; by her husband’s commands she was magnificent, amazing, in one of Tartare’s most startling gowns; a vivid sulphur, shaded to orange, half veiled in silver gauze, and here and there deepened with black. It had the effect that Blagdon desired and made everyone in the room open their eyes. There was no question of its expense and execution--but it was theatrical. Yes, that was how the guests spoke of it, ‘theatrical!’--a robe more suitable to the emancipated wife in a big society play, a _divorcée’s_ robe, in which to trail the stage, and storm and scoff, and vow and weep, than to a young girl-bride in her own drawing-room. Letty wore, also, the splendid Blagdon diamonds, and these, that would have been proper enough with her wedding gown, added just the required touch of lawless extravagance to her appearance.