In answer to his rather nervous ring, a white-aproned servant appeared.
“Yes, we have a party here to-night,” was the answer to his question.
Bert felt so much better that he was about to pass into the house, when the driver called to him:
“Forgot something, didn’t you?”
Bert reddened again; and, dropping his mandolin on the steps, rushed down to the street and paid for the use of the cab. Then he tore up the steps again, and, hurrying past the wondering servant, left his coat and hat and mandolin in the hall, and, without further questions, strode into what he took to be the dining-room.
He stopped on the threshold in amazement. Some couples were on the floor dancing. But they were all strangers to him. Not a face there had he ever seen before. The hostess came forward with a gracious smile.
“I guess I have made a mistake,” Bert stammered. “I am due at a dinner-party at Mrs. Whitlock’s.”
“This is Mrs. Warlock’s.”
“Yes, yes, I know; but I—I——”
He was retreating, covered with confusion.