As Thaddeus had said, Wednesday was his busy day, and never had it been busier than upon this occasion.  Everything moved smoothly, but there was a great deal to move, and finally, when all was done, and Thaddeus rose to leave his desk, it was nearly six o’clock, and quite impossible for him to reach home before seven.  “I shall be late,” he said, as he hurried off; and he was right.  He arrived at home coincidently with his guests, rushed to his room, and dressed.  But one glimpse had he of Bessie, and that was as they passed on the stairs, she hurrying down to receive her guests, he hurrying up to change his clothes.

“Oh, Thad!” was all she said, but to Thaddeus it was disconcerting.

“What is the matter, dear?” he asked.

“Nothing; I’ll tell you later.  Hurry,” she gasped, “or the dinner will be spoiled.”

Thaddeus hurried as he never hurried before, and in fifteen minutes walked, immaculate as to attire, into the drawing-room, where Bessie, her color heightened to an unusual degree, and her usually bright eyes fairly flaming with an unwonted brilliance, was entertaining the Bradleys, the Phillipses, and the Robinsons.

“Didn’t expect me, did you?” said Thaddeus, as he entered the room.

“No,” said Bradley, dryly.  “This is an unexpected pleasure.  I didn’t even know you were a friend of the family.”

“Well, I am,” said Thaddeus.  “One of the oldest friends I’ve got, in fact, which is my sole excuse for keeping you waiting.  Old friends are privileged—­eh, Mrs. Robinson?”

“Dinner is served,” came a deep bass voice from the middle of the doorway.

Thaddeus jumped as if he had seen a ghost, and, turning to see what could have caused the strange metamorphosis in the soprano tremolo of Mary’s voice, was astonished to observe in the parting of the portieres not the more or less portly Mary, but a huge, burly, English-looking man, bowing in a most effective and graceful fashion to Mrs. Bradley, and then straightening himself up into a pose as rigid and uncompromising as that of a marble statue.

“What on earth—­” began Thaddeus, with a startled look of inquiry at Bessie.  But she only shook her head, and put her finger to her lips, enjoining silence, which Thaddeus, fortunately, had the good sense to understand, even if his mind was not equal to the fathoming of that other mystery, the pompous and totally unexpected butler.

But if Thaddeus was surprised to see the butler, he was amazed at the dinner which the butler served.  Surely, he thought, if Ellen can prepare a dinner like this, she ought to be above taking sixteen dollars and a home a month.  It was simply a regal repast.  The oysters were delicious, and the puree was superior to anything Thaddeus had ever eaten in the line of soups in his life—­only it was lobster puree, and ten times better than Ellen’s general run of celery puree.  He winked his eye to denote his extreme satisfaction to Bessie when he thought no one was looking, but was overwhelmed with mortification when he observed that the wink had been seen by the overpowering butler, who looked sternly at him, as much as to say, “’Ow wery wulgar!”