Presently Mrs. Benson, who is on the other side of the colonel, takes up his attention for a time; and as Hugh and Lady Woodhouse are now carrying on a spirited conversation on her right, Doris quietly takes a look all round the table.
There is old Mr. Paget sitting next to Mrs. Horton, with his table-napkin tucked up over his shirt-front, looking as if he had not tasted food for the last month, such undivided attention is he giving to his soup; Mrs. Danvers is carrying on a rather one-sided flirtation with Captain Hall; and good-natured Mrs. Paget is talking with all her might to old Sir Peter, who is looking worried to the last degree by the palpable exertions of the good lady to make herself agreeable and entertaining.
"Why, how quiet we are!" suddenly remarks the colonel, looking down at the bright face beside him.
"Yes, I should think so," says Doris laughing. "It's a terrible ordeal, the responsibility of having to keep one's self in order, you know, and do all that is right and nothing that is wrong. Do you remember your first dinner-party?" she continues.
"Yes, I remember it only too well; I have reason to, I assure you."
"Why? Did anything dreadful happen?"
"Well, yes; I thought it dreadful. What! no champagne?"
"I don't know that mother would like me to have it; I told her to 'hail' when anything important was likely to happen, but she is so taken up with Sir Peter that I believe she has forgotten all about me. Never mind, I'll telegraph to father."
"No, you need not do that!" exclaims the colonel, as well as he can for laughing. "Say 'yes' the next time it comes round, and I will take the responsibility. There, I see Rankin looking this way, I'll beckon him. Some champagne for Miss Doris, please," he says, and in another moment her glass is filled with the sparkling, foaming wine, at which she looks half frightened however.
"Well, now, what were you going to tell me about your first dinner-party?" she asks. "What dreadful thing was it that happened?"