“I’ll smuggle in a dictionary,” declared Mr. Moulton.  “I’ll be ready for her.”

“No use.  She never runs twice in the same groove.  It’s only sure not to be a spelling bee this time.”

“When we last went there it turned out to be a French soiree,” said one of the Misses Dexter, “and she announced that there would be a penny’s fine collected at the end of the evening for each English word spoken.”

“Proceeds to go to a lately imported poor family,” added the sister Dexter.  “There was quite a sum raised, and the head of the family decamped with it two days after, for Heaven knows where, leaving his wife and infants on Mrs. Upjohn’s hands poorer than ever.”

But Mrs. Upjohn’s entertainment proved to be neither orthographic nor linguistic.  The guests arrived punctually as bidden, and their hostess, clad in her most splendid attire, received them with her most gracious manner.  There was nothing to foretell the fate that awaited them.  Her tall, awkward daughter stood nervously by her side.  Mr. Upjohn, too, kept there valiantly for a time, then his round, ample figure and jolly face disappeared somewhere, under chaperonage of Mrs. Bruce, his latest admiration.  But no one ever thought of Mr. Upjohn as the host, any way; beseemed rather to be a sort of favored guest in his own parlor; and his place was more than made good by Mr. Hardcastle, who, standing in the centre of the room, exactly as he always stood in the centre of everybody’s room on such an occasion, appeared himself to be quite master of ceremonies, from the grand way in which he stepped forward to meet each guest and hope he or she “would make out to enjoy it.”  The rooms filled rapidly, and before long Mrs. Upjohn turned from the door and stood an instant reviewing her guests with the triumphant mien of a victorious general.  Then she advanced solemnly to the middle of the room, displacing Mr. Hardcastle, who graciously made way and waved his hand to signify to her his permission to proceed.

“My friends,” said the great lady, with her deep, positive voice, drawing her imposing figure to its fullest height, “as you know, it is never my way to give parties.  I leave that for the rest of you to do.  When I ask you to my house, it is with a higher motive than to make a few hours lie less heavily on your hands.”

“Dear soul!” muttered Dick Hardcastle to his crony, Jake.  “Nobody could have the conscience to charge her with ever having lightened them to us.”

“And therefore,” continued the lady, gazing around upon her victims with a benignant smile, “without further prelude, I will inform you for what object I have asked you to honor me with your presence this afternoon.”

She paused, and a cold chill ran through the company.  What would she do?  Would she open on them with the Westminster Catechism this time, or set them to shelling peas for some poor man’s dinner, or would she examine them in the multiplication table?  A few had run it hastily over before leaving home to make sure that they were ready for such an emergency.