“I see by the ‘Star’,” said he, “that there’s goin’ to be a blowout up at the Standishes’, week after next. A dinner party and a musicle. Whatever a musicle may be. You’re goin’ of course, Caine?”
“Yes,” replied Caine, adding flippantly, “of course you are?”
“Yes,” said Caleb, slowly, “I think I am.”
“You’re not in earnest?” cried Desirée, surprised.
“I’m in earnest all right. It’ll be a big affair. I think I’ll go to the musicle an’ the dinner too.”
“But I didn’t know you knew any of the Standishes except—”
“I don’t yet. But I will by then. I’ll get asked. You’re goin’ to the musicle part of it with Mrs. Hawarden, ain’t you, Dey? You said somethin’ about it yesterday. Well, you’ll see me there. Say!” as a new idea struck him, “how’d you like to be asked to the dinner, too? That’s the excloosive part of the whole show. Only about a dozen guests. More’n a couple of hundred at the musicle. Want to go to the dinner?”
“Of course not,” she exclaimed. “What a crazy idea! As if you could get me an invitation, even if I did want to!”
“Oh, I could get it all right,” urged Caleb. “I’m goin’ myself.”
Caine, who had dropped wholly out of the talk, rose to go. There was a curious restraint about his manner as he bade Desirée goodbye.