It was the beginning of June, and West-end London was glorious with the brief brilliancy of the early summer. All the Mayfair balconies were bright with, flowers, and the Mayfair knockers resounded perpetually under the hand of the archetypal Jeames. The weather was unusually warm; the most perfect weather for garden-parties, every one declared, and there were several of these al fresco assemblies inscribed in Mrs. Granger's visiting-book: one at Wimbledon; another as far afield as Henley-on-Thames, at a villa whose grounds sloped down to the river.
This Henley party was an affair in which Lady Laura Armstrong was particularly interested. It was given by a bachelor friend of her husband's, a fabulously rich stockbroker; and it was Lady Laura who had brought the proprietor of the villa to Clarges-street, and who had been instrumental in the getting-up of the fête.
"You must really give us some kind of a party at your Henley place this year, Mr. Wooster," she said. "There is the regatta now; I have positively not seen the Henley regatta for three years. The Putney business is all very well—supremely delightful, in short, while it lasts—but such a mere lightning flash of excitement. I like a long day's racing, such as one gets at Henley."
"Lady Laura ought to be aware that my house is at her disposal all the year round, and that she has only to signify her pleasure to her most devoted slave."
"O, that's all very well." replied my lady. "Of course, I know that if Frederick and I were to come down, you would give us luncheon or dinner, and let us roam about the gardens as long as we liked. But that's not what I want. I want you to give a party on one of the race days, and invite all the nice people in London."
"Are there any nasty people on this side of Temple-bar, Lady Laura, before the closing of Parliament? I thought, in the season everybody was nice."
"You know what I mean, sir. I want the really pleasant people. Half-a-dozen painters or so, and some of the nicest literary men—not the men who write the best books, but the men who talk cleverly; and, of course, a heap of musical people—they are always nice, except to one another. You must have marquees on the lawn for the luncheon—your house is too small for anything more than tea and coffee; and for once let there be no such thing as croquet—that alone will give your party an air of originality. I suppose you had better put yourself entirely into Gunter's hands for the commissariat, and be sure you tell him you want novelty—no hackneyed ideas; sparkle and originality in everything, from the eggs to the apples. I should ask you to give us a dance in the evening, with coloured lamps, if that were practicable, but there is the coming back to town; and if we carried the business on to a breakfast next morning, some of the people might begin to be tired, and the women would look faded and limp. So I think we had better confine ourselves to a mere garden-party and luncheon, without any dancing," Lady Laura concluded with a faint sigh.
"Will you send out the invitations, Lady Laura?"
"O, no; I leave all that to you. You really know everybody—or everybody we need care about."
In this manner Mr. Wooster's party had been arranged, and to this party the Grangers were bidden. Even the serious Sophia was going; indeed, it is to be observed that this young lady joined in all mundane gaieties, under protest as it were.