The salad eaten, the table is cleared and crumbed, and the dessert brought in—ices in some pretty form, accompanied by fancy cakes. Fruit may succeed this, or it may be omitted, and the final cup of chocolate or coffee served at once. The bonbons now receive attention, and are usually carried into the drawing-room by the guests, who, being women, seem to find almost as much enjoyment in nibbling these as men do in discussing their post-prandial cigars.
A LARGE LUNCHEON.
A MUCH more ceremonious affair than that described in the preceding chapter is the large luncheon, where there are present anywhere from eight to twenty guests. The invitations for this are issued at least ten days, and often three weeks or more, previous to the date for which the guests are asked, and should be written, not verbal, except when given to an intimate friend. The recipient should reply at once. The hour set is usually one or half-past one, and the most punctilious promptness should always be observed. Nothing short of a serious accident or illness or a death in the family can justify any one in breaking such an engagement.
"People don't always keep that precept," says a woman, decidedly. "I can give more than one example to the contrary from my own experience. Here is an instance. I had a letter not long ago from a friend living out of town, begging me to fix a time when she could come and see me. She dreaded making the trip into town when it was doubtful if she would find me at home. I knew she had few outings, so I wrote and asked her to lunch with me upon a certain day, adding that there would be a couple of other old friends present whom she would be glad to meet again. The appointed day came, and was misty and drizzly. It never occurred to me that the weather would keep any one housed, and at the lunch hour 'the guests were met, the feast was set'—or, at least, two of the guests were there—but the one in whose honor they had been invited failed to appear. A whole mortal hour did we wait for that woman. Then in despair we sat down to a luncheon that had been in no ways improved by the delay. It was to have been a partie carrée, and one side of the table looked wofully blank and bare."
"But did you not get a satisfactory explanation of your friend's absence?" queries an interested listener.
"Only a note the next day, stating that as it had stormed, she had supposed I would not expect her. It never seemed to occur to her that she ought at least to have telegraphed."