A DINNER-PARTY.
A week later Miss Gastonguay was giving a dinner-party. She had begged the favour of Mr. and Mrs. Mercer's company, and Derrice at the present moment was standing before her husband's wardrobe.
"Don't you have an evening suit, Justin?"
"No, little girl."
"You must get one," and she surveyed his light trousers and black frock coat.
"Do I look badly?" he asked, in some anxiety.
"No, you are very manly and good-looking, and your feet are well-shaped, though the soles of your boots are a trifle thick, but I shall have to change my gown."
"That overpowering creation," and he stared admiringly at her cream satin dress,—a triumph of some foreign dressmaker's art.
"Yes; we are too strong a contrast. I shall not be long."
"I am sorry to give you this trouble, Derrice."