The dinner itself I cannot describe, for the sufficient reason that I cannot now recall one solitary thing I ate. But the impression remains with me that it was really an extraordinarily simple dinner, that everything was delicious, and that one rose up from it with a sense of having been daintily fed, not stuffed. I'm sure I could not pay it a higher or a rarer compliment.
After dinner the Promoter told stories of "deals," to which the Professor listened curiously, watching the speaker as he might have gently eyed some strange specimen in the world of insects or of birds. The Judge and the Cashier hobnobbed for a while; then the Judge made his way to the side of Wistaria and remained there for an indefinite period, both looking deeply interested in their conversation. The Engineer attempted to make something of Althea, but presently gave it up, spent a few moments with Camellia, and came back to me. By and by Azalea and the Cashier sang a duet for us, and after some persuasion Azalea then sang alone. Altogether, the evening got on somehow—it is all very hazy in my mind, except for one singular fact—I did not spend a moment with the Philosopher. How this happened I do not know, and it was so unusual that it seemed noteworthy. It was not because he was not several times in my immediate vicinity, but I was always at the moment so engaged with whomever happened to be talking with me that I had not time to turn and include the Philosopher in the interview.
When our guests departed they went together, having one and the same car to catch. All but Wistaria, who had come in her own private carriage, which was late in arriving to take her home. The Philosopher had remained with her, and he took her down to her carriage. I cannot remember seeing anything more attractive than Wistaria's personality as she said good night, her sparkling face all winsome cordiality, her white scarf lying lightly upon the masses of her black hair, the crimson rose nodding from the folds of her long, white cloak.
"Pretty fine looking pair, aren't they?" observed the Skeptic, with an expansive grin, the moment the door had closed upon Wistaria and the Philosopher. He threw himself into a chair and yawned mightily. "Wistaria's almost as tall as Philo, isn't she? A superb woman."
"I never saw her looking so well," agreed Hepatica, straightening chairs and settling couch pillows, trailing here and there in her pretty frock with all the energy of the early morning, as if it were not half-after eleven by the little mantel clock. "Didn't you like her, dear?" She threw an eager glance at me. She was in the restless mood of the hostess who wishes to be assured that everything has gone well.
"I was charmed with her," said I—I had not meant to take a seat again; I was weary and wanted to get away to bed—"I never knew how beautiful an American Beauty rose was till I saw it beneath her face."
The Skeptic turned in his chair and looked at me. "Well done!" he cried. "Couldn't have said it better myself. We must tell Philo that speech. He'll be deeply gratified. He has every confidence in your taste."
"The dinner was perfect," I went on. "I never imagined one so cleverly planned. And everybody seemed in great spirits—there wasn't a dull moment."
"You dear thing!" said Hepatica, and came and dropped a kiss upon my hair. "It's fun to do things for you, you're so appreciative. Didn't you enjoy your Mining Engineer?"
"He was so entertaining," said I, "that if it had been any other dinner than that one I shouldn't have known what I was eating."