“Victory, Clara, victory!” cried Ida, still pirouetting around the furniture.  “Did you hear what he said?  Pernicious influences!  Don’t you understand, Clara?  Why do you sit there so pale and glum?  Why don’t you get up and dance?”

“Oh, I shall be so glad when it is over, Ida.  I do hate to give him pain.  Surely he has learned now that it is very unpleasant to spend one’s life with reformers.”

“He has almost learned it, Clara.  Just one more little lesson.  We must not risk all at this last moment.”

“What would you do, Ida?  Oh, don’t do anything too dreadful.  I feel that we have gone too far already.”

“Oh, we can do it very nicely.  You see we are both engaged and that makes it very easy.  Harold will do what you ask him, especially as you have told him the reason why, and my Charles will do it without even wanting to know the reason.  Now you know what Mrs. Westmacott thinks about the reserve of young ladies.  Mere prudery, affectation, and a relic of the dark ages of the Zenana.  Those were her words, were they not?”

“What then?”

“Well, now we must put it in practice.  We are reducing all her other views to practice, and we must not shirk this one.

“But what would you do?  Oh, don’t look so wicked, Ida!  You look like some evil little fairy, with your golden hair and dancing, mischievous eyes.  I know that you are going to propose something dreadful!”

“We must give a little supper to-night.”

“We?  A supper!”

“Why not?  Young gentlemen give suppers.  Why not young ladies?”

“But whom shall we invite?”

“Why, Harold and Charles of course.”

“And the Admiral and Mrs. Hay Denver?”

“Oh, no.  That would be very old-fashioned.  We must keep up with the times, Clara.”

“But what can we give them for supper?”

“Oh, something with a nice, fast, rollicking, late-at-night-kind of flavor to it.  Let me see!  Champagne, of course—­and oysters.  Oysters will do.  In the novels, all the naughty people take champagne and oysters.  Besides, they won’t need any cooking.  How is your pocket-money, Clara?”

“I have three pounds.”

“And I have one.  Four pounds.  I have no idea how much champagne costs.  Have you?”

“Not the slightest.”

“How many oysters does a man eat?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“I’ll write and ask Charles.  No, I won’t.  I’ll ask Jane.  Ring for her, Clara.  She has been a cook, and is sure to know.”

Jane, on being cross-questioned, refused to commit herself beyond the statement that it depended upon the gentleman, and also upon the oysters.  The united experience of the kitchen, however, testified that three dozen was a fair provision.

“Then we shall have eight dozen altogether,” said Ida, jotting down all her requirements upon a sheet of paper.  “And two pints of champagne.  And some brown bread, and vinegar, and pepper.  That’s all, I think.  It is not so very difficult to give a supper after all, is it, Clara?”