"There's fruit, I suppose," said Miss Gastonguay to Prosperity; "get us some, if O'Toole hasn't taken it under the stove; and you had better get him out and put him to bed. Chelda, you go look after things, will you?"
The young lady left her seat, and as serenely and gracefully as if intoxicated cooks were every-day occurrences made her way kitchenwards.
"Now what is the matter with you?" said Miss Gastonguay, directing her attention to Justin, who had risen, and was standing beside her.
"I am due at a prayer-meeting."
"A prayer-meeting! What did you accept my invitation for if you couldn't stay?"
"I will come back if you will permit me," he said, in a manner quite courtly.
"Well, go. You will graciously allow your wife to remain?"
"Certainly; we should not have come if she had not decided to do so," and, with a bow, he left the room.
"What about you, Mr. Huntington?" asked Miss Gastonguay.
He shrugged his shoulders. "To tell the truth, I forgot about it when you sent me your note to-day. However, it is only a young people's meeting. I do not need to go."