"Who in the world—at this hour?" demanded Miss Quiney.
A serving-maid ushered in Manasseh.
The tall black halted a little within the doorway, saluted and stood grinning respectfully, his white teeth gleaming in the candle-light.
"Yo' pardon, ladies. His Honah sends to say he entertainin' to-night. Plenty people drink his Honah's health an' long life to Sir Olivah Vyell. He wish pertick'ly Mis' Josselin drink it. He tol' me run, get out sedan-chair an' fetch Mis' Josselin along; fetch her back soon as she likes. Chairmen at de door dis moment, waitin'. I mak' 'em run."
Ruth stood up. Her hand went to the edge of her bodice open below the throat.
"Must I?" she asked, turning from Manasseh to Miss Quiney. Her voice was tense.
"I—I think so, dear," Miss Quiney answered after a pause. "It is a command, almost; and to-night naturally Captain Vyell—Sir Oliver—has a claim on our congratulations."
"You tell me to go? . . . Oh! but let me be sure you know what you are advising." She faced the negro again. "What guests is Sir Oliver entertaining?"
Manasseh enumerated a dozen.
"All gentlemen! So, you see!"