“Some friends of mine that visit her,” said a fourth lady, “describe her parties as absolute perfection.  She always manages to bring together those persons that are best fitted to enjoy each other’s conversation.  Still no one is overlooked or neglected.  Then everything at her reunions is so well proportioned—­she has just enough of music, and just enough of whatever amusement may add to the pleasure of her guests; and still there is no appearance of design or management on her part.”

“And better than all,” said the lady who had spoken firsts “Mrs. St. Leonard is one of the kindest, most generous, and most benevolent of women—­she does good in every possible way.”

“I can listen no longer,” said Caroline to Edward, rising to change her seat.  “If I hear any more I shall absolutely hate the Watkinsons.  How provoking that they should have sent us the first invitation.  If we had only thought of waiting till we could hear from Mrs. St. Leonard!”

“For shame, Caroline,” said her brother, “how can you talk so of persons you have never seen, and to whom you ought to feel grateful for the kindness of their invitation; even if it has interfered with another party, that I must confess seems to offer unusual attractions.  Now I have a presentiment that we shall find the Watkinson part of the evening very enjoyable.”

As soon as tea was over, Mrs. Morland and her daughter repaired to their toilettes.  Fortunately, fashion as well as good taste, has decided that, at a summer party, the costume of the ladies should never go beyond an elegant simplicity.  Therefore our two ladies in preparing for their intended appearance at Mrs. St. Leonard’s, were enabled to attire themselves in a manner that would not seem out of place in the smaller company they expected to meet at the Watkinsons.  Over an under-dress of lawn, Caroline Morland put on a white organdy trimmed with lace, and decorated with bows of pink ribbon.  At the back of her head was a wreath of fresh and beautiful pink flowers, tied with a similar ribbon.  Mrs. Morland wore a black grenadine over a satin, and a lace cap trimmed with white.

It was but a quarter past nine o’clock when their carriage stopped at the Watkinson door.  The front of the house looked very dark.  Not a ray gleamed through the Venetian shutters, and the glimmer beyond the fan-light over the door was almost imperceptible.  After the coachman had rung several times, an Irish girl opened the door, cautiously (as Irish girls always do), and admitted them into the entry, where one light only was burning in a branch lamp.  “Shall we go upstairs?” said Mrs. Morland.  “And what for would ye go upstairs?” said the girl in a pert tone.  “It’s all dark there, and there’s no preparations.  Ye can lave your things here a-hanging on the rack.  It is a party ye’re expecting?  Blessed are them what expects nothing.”

The sanguine Edward Morland looked rather blank at this intelligence, and his sister whispered to him, “We’ll get off to Mrs. St. Leonard’s as soon as we possibly can.  When did you tell the coachman to come for us?”