Two weeks before the dinner the guest receives his invitation, which may have been sent either by private hand or by post. The latter method in these days of "magnificent distances" is rapidly growing in favor. The invitation card, which is about three and a half inches wide by four and a half long, is engraved in a dashing script as follows:
Mr. and Mrs. Pelham Blank
request the pleasure of
Mr. —— ——'s company
at dinner on
—— —— ——
at half-past seven o'clock,
—— Gramercy Square.
The name of the guest and the date of the dinner are written in the blank spaces on the card. To this invitation he sends an immediate reply.
The guest reaches the house of his entertainers on the appointed evening at a few minutes before the dinner hour. In the coat-room he finds a man-servant in attendance, ready to assist in any trifling matters of the toilet, who hands each gentleman, on a silver tray, a tiny envelope, enclosing a card bearing the name of the lady he is to take in to dinner. Descending to the drawing-room, the name of the guest is announced at the door by a servant, who draws aside the portière to allow him to enter. His first address is, of course, to Mr. and Mrs. Blank, who stand near the door receiving. The young man, Fidus by name, congratulates himself inwardly that he at least is on time, and, seeing at a glance how few of his fellow convives have arrived, marvels anew, as he has done often before, that well-bred people will be so careless of the laws that regulate good society as to arrive at a house ten, fifteen, and even twenty minutes after the hour fixed for dinner.
As Fidus has never met the young lady whose name is written on the card presented to him in the dressing-room, he promptly requests an introduction of his hostess, and chats with his fate for this evening until—all of the fourteen invited guests having arrived—a servant draws back the portières and announces by a bow that dinner is served. Mr. Blank offers his arm to the guest for whom the dinner is especially given—a charming Englishwoman—and the rest of the party follow them to the dining-room. There is no suggestion of precedence, except as the younger guests naturally give way to the elders of the company. Mrs. Blank and her attendant cavalier come last.
The dining-room, a fine large apartment, is lighted only by candles; but there are plenty of these in sconces, in candelabra, in candle-sticks of odd and pretty designs. Flowers are all about wherever their use, either singly or massed, can produce a good effect.
The places at table are marked by plain white cards, each with the name of a guest painted on it in gold. The table decorations are quiet in effect, but in excellent taste. The cloth, of pure white plain damask, is covered through the centre with a scarf of elaborate drawn-work. In place of the towering épergnes once so fashionable, the floral ornaments, candelabra, etc., are all low. Pink roses, white lilacs, and maidenhair ferns are the flowers used; and these are not arranged in set form, but are simply massed in cut-glass bowls, three in number, placed here and there through the centre of the table. The candelabra are also of cut glass, which is used wherever it is possible, in preference to silver. A corsage bouquet of the flowers mentioned above, tied with a wide pink ribbon, awaits each lady at her place, while a boutonnière lies beside the name card of each man. The candles are shaded with alternate pink and white shades, and the silver and china are of the daintiest and prettiest.
At each place are two large knives and a smaller one—one of these being supposed to be for fish, although it is decidedly contre les règles to use a knife for fish—a small fork for fish, three large forks, a spoon for soup, and a small oyster fork. The knives are at the right, the forks at the left of the plate, and on the left is also the folded napkin containing the bread. The glasses for water and wine are on the right. There are generally four of the latter, for claret, sauterne, champagne, and sherry.