"Dr. and Mrs. Benson," announces Rankin; and Mrs. Merivale, followed by her daughter, goes forward to receive the first guests. The rector takes immediate possession of his host, and getting him on to the rug before the fire enters into an animated discussion with him on the prime minister's speech of the previous night; dashing into it so suddenly that Doris, who is standing by, is inspired with the idea that they must have begun this conversation some time during the same day somewhere, and having perhaps been interrupted, have now taken it up again at the exact point at which they left off. Mrs. Merivale and the rector's wife being seated together on a sofa talking softly about their respective families, Doris roams about the room a little until another loud peal at the bell causes her to retire a little behind her mother's chair, in order to be in readiness when the next visitors are announced. This time it is Colonel and Mrs. Danvers and almost close upon them are ushered in Mrs. and Mr. Hugh Horton and Captain Hall, as if they had all come together. There is quite a buzz of conversation in the room now, and Doris finds herself seated by Mrs. Danvers, with Captain Hall and Hugh standing before them, laughing and chatting as if she had been accustomed to this sort of thing all her days.
"Well, how do you think you will like your first dinner-party, Doris?" inquires Hugh, going round and leaning over her chair.
"O, I think it will be jolly. I am enjoying it all so far; only if mother sends me down with one of the old fogies the dinner part of the performance will be awfully dull. You take me down, Hugh, do; then we can discuss the tableaux and the party, you know. We have got a lot settled to-night, and the carpenter is coming to-morrow to see about arranging the room. It only remains to be decided which we shall choose."
"All serene!" replies the young fellow. "I'll take you down if I can, Doris; but your mother may have other views for me, you know. Ah! here come some more. I say, Doris, is Honor coming down to-night?"
"No—that is, yes," hurriedly answers Doris, rising as the door is thrown open, and "Mr. and Mrs. Paget" and "Lady Woodhouse" are announced.
"Why, bless my heart, child, what does this mean?" exclaims the latter lady, bearing down upon her niece, and lifting her eye-glass.
"What does what mean, aunt?" inquires Doris demurely, and meeting the astonished stare of her aunt with unmoved gravity.
"Why, your being down here, dressed up in a gown which I am quite sure Miss Renny was never guilty of making. You are never going to dine?"
"Yes, I am, aunt, of course, or I shouldn't be down here at all. Mother says she means me to appear a little at home before really coming out. She wants me to get a little into the ways of society."
"Ways of fiddle-sticks, I should say!" rejoins Lady Woodhouse tartly. "In my young days one was never seen or heard of until properly introduced. Let me see, how old are you, child—seventeen, eighteen?"