Jane was interested in the conversation, but felt that it would be better to return to the refreshment-table.  There she made use of her own conception of a whisper to place before her mother a report which was considered interesting and even curious by every one present; though, such was the courtesy of the little assembly, there was a general pretense of not hearing.

“I told him,” thus whispered Jane, “an’ he said, ’You g’way from that door or I’ll do somep’m’—­he didn’t say what, mamma.  He said, ’What you think I’m doin’?  I’m playin’ dominoes.’  He didn’t mean he was playin’ dominoes, mamma.  He just said he was.  I think maybe he was just lookin’ in the lookin’-glass some more.”

Mrs. Baxter was becoming embarrassed.  She resolved to go to William’s room herself at the first opportunity; but for some time her conscientiousness as a hostess continued to occupy her at the table, and then, when she would have gone, Miss Pratt detained her by a roguish appeal to make Mr. Bullitt and Mr. Watson behave.  Both refused all nourishment except such as was placed in their mouths by the delicate hand of one of the Noblest, and the latter said that really she wanted to eat a little tweetie now and then herself, and not to spend her whole time feeding the Men.  For Miss Pratt had the same playfulness with older people that she had with those of her own age; and she elaborated her pretended quarrel with the two young gentlemen, taking others of the dazzled company into her confidence about it, and insisting upon “Mamma Batster’s” acting formally as judge to settle the difficulty.  However, having thus arranged matters, Miss Pratt did not resign the center of interest, but herself proposed a compromise:  she would continue to feed Mr. Bullitt and Mr. Watson “every other tweetie”—­that is, each must agree to eat a cake “all by him own self,” after every cake fed to him.  So the comedietta went on, to the running accompaniment of laughter, with Mr. Bullitt and Mr. Watson swept by such gusts of adoration they were like to perish where they sat.  But Mrs. Baxter’s smiling approval was beginning to be painful to the muscles of her face, for it was hypocritical.  And if William had known her thoughts about one of the Noblest, he could only have attributed them to that demon of groundless prejudice which besets all females, but most particularly and outrageously the mothers and sisters of Men.

A colored serving-maid entered with a laden tray, and, having disposed of its freight of bon-bons among the guests, spoke to Mrs. Baxter in a low voice.

“Could you manage step in the back hall a minute, please, ma’am?”

Mrs. Baxter managed and, having closed the door upon the laughing voices, asked, quickly—­“What is it, Adelia?  Have you seen Mr. William?  Do you know why he doesn’t come down?”

“Yes’m,” said Adelia.  “He gone mighty near out his head, Miz Baxter.”

“What!”

“Yes’m.  He come floppin’ down the back stairs in his baf-robe li’l’ while ago.  He jes’ gone up again.  He ’ain’t got no britches, Miz Baxter.”