It was precisely like Dorothy Chase.  That was all that could be said.  Nobody said it, but Sally and Josephine thought it, and Janet and Constance told themselves, as they sewed on, that the young matron who made this decidedly startling proposition must be accustomed to having things her own way, or she would not have acquired so confident a manner of making her demands.

Sally was the first to give voice to her astonishment.  “Well, Dorothy,” said she, “you certainly take us off our feet.  Here are we, just settled down to work that absolutely must be done, and in you walk and ask us to lay it down and go off to help entertain a bishop who’s probably wishing you wouldn’t do anything special at all for him this hot weather!”

“Nothing of the sort.  He’s heard all about Miss Carew’s voice—­people that met her last year in Leipsic.”

Constance sat up.  “Who, please?”

“The Markhams—­and the Carrolls.  Now will you be good?”

Constance leaned back again, applying herself to her sewing.

“I don’t remember anybody of that name,” mused Janet, looking at Constance.

“Yes, you do—­friends of Mrs. Sears—­just stopping over a day?”

The two pairs of eyes met.  There must have been something in Constance’s—­invisible to other beholders—­which recalled some incident or other to Janet, for after staring a minute she suddenly dropped her eyes, said, “Oh, yes—­” and sewed away faster than ever.

“Will you come?” demanded Dorothy Chase.

They tried to get out of it—­they pointed out various reasons why it would be difficult for them to come away.  Dorothy overrode all their objections, and became so persistent that at last the four agreed, but refused to go until evening.  As for the young men of the household, it would be of no use to ask them.

“Send out for us just in time for your affair, and we’ll come,” promised Sally.  “But what you want of Jo and me I don’t see.  We can’t perform for you in any way.”

“Oh, but you can help make things go.  Sally can talk to the bishop—­”

“I can’t,” cried Sally, dismayed.

“And Jo can be nice to Mrs. bishop.  I don’t see why your men won’t come.  It’s so hard to get men for anything except sports in summer.  How perfectly absurd it is for Jarvis Burnside to prefer hoeing potatoes in this frightful sun to playing society man for an hour or two in the evening!”

“It’s truly incomprehensible, but so it is.  Besides, he looks like an Indian, and in his evening clothes would resemble a fiend.  Be satisfied, Dorothy, now you have us for victims, and let the men stay at home.”  And Sally slashed a seam open with shears that clipped like her speech.

But Mrs. Chase was not satisfied, and berated Jarvis roundly, when, presently he came walking up to the porch with Neil, looking the picture of well-browned contentment.  He took her displeasure lightly enough, and presently had her laughing in spite of herself.