"N'importe, girl," I answered, testily. "I shall remain at home, Suzanne. Give orders down-stairs that I have a headache and can receive no one."
"But Madame is looking so much better!" protested Suzanne. "And the débutantes will call to-day. It is madame's afternoon."
"Well, do your worst, then," I grumbled, discontentedly. "Can you get me some cloves, Suzanne?"
An hour later, I entered the drawing-room after a perilous descent from the second story, to confront three young women, who, I had gathered from Suzanne, held Caroline in high esteem as a chaperon. I had committed their names to memory before leaving the dressing-room, but the effort to get down-stairs without spraining my wife's ankles had obliterated from my mind all traces of its recent acquisition. I stood, flushing painfully, gazing into the smiling faces of three handsome, modish girls who were wholly strangers to their vicarious hostess.
"Oh, Mrs. Stevens, what a charming day!"
"How lovely you are looking!"
"Wasn't the Crompton dance perfectly stunning?"
"Mr. Van Tromp made such a pretty epigram about your costume!"
"Just a moment--ah--girls," I gasped, seating myself awkwardly, and inclined to lose my temper. "There's a painful lack of method about all this. Suppose we begin at the beginning. You were saying--ah--my dear--?" I remarked to the calmest of the trio. The latter exchanged puzzled glances with her companions.
"I was speaking of the compliment that Mr. Van Tromp paid to you," explained the maiden, rather dolefully.