The Widow smiled with a feeling of triumph at having overcome her difficulties and arranged her party,—­arose and stood before her glass, three-quarters front, one-quarter profile, so as to show the whites of the eyes and the down of the upper lip.  “Splendid!” said the Widow—­and to tell the truth, she was not far out of the way, and with Helen Darley as a foil anybody would know she must be foudroyant and pyramidal,—­if these French adjectives may be naturalized for this one particular exigency.

So the Widow sent out her notes.  The black grief which had filled her heart and had overflowed in surges of crape around her person had left a deposit half an inch wide at the margin of her note-paper.  Her seal was a small youth with an inverted torch, the same on which Mrs. Blanche Creamer made her spiteful remark, that she expected to see that boy of the Widow’s standing on his head yet; meaning, as Dick supposed, that she would get the torch right-side up as soon as she had a chance.  That was after Dick had made the Widow’s acquaintance, and Mrs. Creamer had got it into her foolish head that she would marry that young fellow, if she could catch him.  How could he ever come to fancy such a quadroon-looking thing as that, she should like to know?

It is easy enough to ask seven people to a party; but whether they will come or not is an open question, as it was in the case of the spirits of the vasty deep.  If the note issues from a three-story mansion-house, and goes to two-story acquaintances, they will all be in an excellent state of health, and have much pleasure in accepting this very polite invitation.  If the note is from the lady of a two-story family to three-story ones, the former highly respectable person will very probably find that an endemic complaint is prevalent, not represented in the weekly bills of mortality, which occasions numerous regrets in the bosoms of eminently desirable parties that they cannot have the pleasure of and-so-forthing.

In this case there was room for doubt,—­mainly as to whether Elsie would take a fancy to come or not.  If she should come, her father would certainly be with her.  Dick had promised, and thought he could bring Elsie.  Of course the young schoolmaster will come, and that poor tired-out looking Helen, if only to get out of sight of those horrid Peckham wretches.  They don’t get such invitations every day.  The others she felt sure of,—­all but the old Doctor,—­he might have some horrid patient or other to visit; tell him Elsie Venner’s going to be there,—­he always likes to have an eye on her, they say,—­oh, he’d come fast enough, without any more coaxing.

She wanted the Doctor, particularly.  It was odd, but she was afraid of Elsie.  She felt as if she should be safe enough, if the old Doctor were there to see to the girl; and then she should have leisure to devote herself more freely to the young lady’s father, for whom all her sympathies were in a state of lively excitement.