I don’t think I ever saw my house look so lovely before.  Mrs. Johnson had put all the flowers out of hers and Mrs. Cain’s garden all over everything, and the table was a mass of soft pink roses that were shedding perfume and nodding at one another in their most society manner.  There is no glimmer in the world like that which comes from really old polished silver and rosewood and mahogany, and one’s great-great-grandmother’s hand-woven linen feels like Oriental silk across one’s knees.

Suddenly I felt very stately and granddamey and responsible as I looked at them all across the roses and sparkling glass.  They were lovely women, all of them, and could such men be found anywhere else in the world?  When I left them all to go out into the big universe to meet the distinctions that I knew my future husband would have for me, would I sit at table with people who loved me like this?  I saw Pet Buford say something to Tom about me that I know was lovely from the way he smiled at me; and the judge’s eyes were a full cup for any woman to have offered her.  Then in a flash it all seemed to go to my head, and tears rose to my eyes, and there I might have been crying at my own party if I hadn’t felt a strong warm hand laid on mine as it rested on my lap and Dr. John’s kind voice teased into my ears—­“Steady, Mrs. Molly, there’s the loving-cup to come yet,” he whispered.  I hated him, but held on to his thumb tight for half a minute.  He didn’t know what the matter really was, but he understood what I needed.  He always does.

And after that everybody had a good time, Jane and her nephew as much as anybody, and I could see Aunt Bettie and Mrs. Johnson peeping in the pantry door, having the time of their lives, too.

That dinner was going like an airship on a high wind, when something happened to tangle its tail feathers, and I can hardly write it for trembling yet.  It was a simple little telegram, but it might have been nitro-glycerine on a tear for the way it acted.  It was for me, but the nephew handed it to Tom, and he opened it and, looking at me, he solemnly read it out loud.  It said—­

  “Arrived this noon.  Have I your permission to come to Hillsboro
  immediately?  Answer.  ALFRED.”

It was dreadful!  Nobody said a word, and Tom laid the telegram right down in his plate, where it immediately began to soak up the dressing of his salad.  He was so white and shaky that Pet looked at him in amazement, and then I am sure she had the good sense to find his hand under the cloth and hold it, for his shoulder hovered against hers, and the colour came back to his face as he smiled down at her.  I don’t believe I’ll ever get the courage to look at Tom again until he marries Pet, which he’ll do now, I feel sure.

And as for the judge and Ruth Clinton, I was glad they were sitting beside each other, for I could avoid that side of the table with my eyes until I had steadied myself a few seconds at least.  The surprise made the others I had been dining seem statues from the stone age, and only Mr. Graves’ fork failed to hang fire.  His appetite is as strong as his nerves, and Delia Hawes looked at his composure with the relief plain in her eyes.  Henrietta’s smile in the judge’s direction was doubtful.  But they were not all my lovers, and why that awful silence?