They drove to Mrs. St. Leonard’s, hoping to be yet in time to pass half an hour there; though it was now near twelve o’clock and summer parties never continue to a very late hour. But as they came into the street in which she lived they were met by a number of coaches on their way home, and on reaching the door of her brilliantly lighted mansion, they saw the last of the guests driving off in the last of the carriages, and several musicians coming down the steps with their instruments in their hands.
“So there has been a dance, then!” sighed Caroline. “Oh, what we have missed! It is really too provoking.”
“So it is,” said Edward; “but remember that to-morrow morning we set off for Niagara.”
“I will leave a note for Mrs. St. Leonard,” said his mother, “explaining that we were detained at Mrs. Watkinson’s by our coachman disappointing us. Let us console ourselves with the hope of seeing more of this lady on our return. And now, dear Caroline, you must draw a moral from the untoward events of to-day. When you are mistress of a house, and wish to show civility to strangers, let the invitation be always accompanied with a frank disclosure of what they are to expect. And if you cannot conveniently invite company to meet them, tell them at once that you will not insist on their keeping their engagement with you if anything offers afterwards that they think they would prefer; provided only that they apprize you in time of the change in their plan.”
“Oh, mamma,” replied Caroline, “you may be sure I shall always take care not to betray my visitors into an engagement which they may have cause to regret, particularly if they are strangers whose time is limited. I shall certainly, as you say, tell them not to consider themselves bound to me if they afterwards receive an invitation which promises them more enjoyment. It will be a long while before I forget, the Watkinson evening.”
BY GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS (1824-1892)
[From Putnam’s Monthly, December, 1854. Republished in the volume, Prue and I (1856), by George William Curtis (Harper & Brothers).]
In my mind’s eye, Horatio.
Prue and I do not entertain much; our means forbid it. In truth, other people entertain for us. We enjoy that hospitality of which no account is made. We see the show, and hear the music, and smell the flowers of great festivities, tasting as it were the drippings from rich dishes. Our own dinner service is remarkably plain, our dinners, even on state occasions, are strictly in keeping, and almost our only guest is Titbottom. I buy a handful of roses as I come up from the office, perhaps, and Prue arranges them so prettily in a glass dish for the centre of the table that even when I have hurried out to see Aurelia step into her carriage to go out to dine, I have thought