THE HOUSE-WARMING.
THE next day the piano and the étagère came, and were duly disposed of in our pretty parlor. I could not help agreeing with Lilian that both of them were absolutely necessary to the proper appointment of the room. After she had covered the étagère with a variety of articles, most of which had to be purchased for the purpose, the effect was pleasing.
The piano filled a waiting space; and really there seemed to be nothing more to wish for in this world. Lilian played a few tunes on the new instrument, and my home seemed to be invested with a new charm. Beyond the party, I looked forward to pleasant hours when our friends should gather in this room on Sunday evening to sing sacred music, for which Tom Flynn had a decided partiality.
On Friday morning I went to the bank as usual. When I returned, Smith had taken possession of the house, and was making his arrangements for the grand occasion in the evening. I am bound to say that he made but little fuss for so great an affair. When the evening came, a colored gentleman in white cotton gloves was stationed at the door, and more waiters were disposed of in other parts of the house. People came—every body Lilian had invited, except those she wanted most, viz: my wealthy friend from Beacon Street, with his family. They did not come, and I had not supposed they would.
Mrs. Oliphant came, and certainly this was a triumph. Lilian felt that she had outgeneralled her mother, and conquered a peace. I am afraid it required a desperate struggle on the part of “dear ma” to yield the point, and I could only guess at the consideration which induced her to come down from the “high horse.” But she was stiff and magnificent at first. She did not seem to enjoy the affair, and looked upon me as an ogre who had defeated all her cherished plans.
Miss Bertha came, and so did Tom; and early in the evening I was not a little surprised to hear the piano giving out the solemn notes of Peterboro and Hebron, sung by a large portion of the company. The instrument was pronounced excellent. Bertha sang like a nightingale, and I am not sure that the piano did not cement a regard which ultimately transformed the fair pianist into Mrs. Tom Flynn.
Everything went well, and at eleven o’clock Smith’s supper was uncovered. When I saw the stores with which the table was loaded, I was afraid that the expense would spoil the face of a hundred dollar bill. A little later, when champagne, Madeira and sherry were produced, I was somewhat troubled. Reading the dates on the bottles, I was absolutely alarmed.
“I did not think you intended to have wine, Lilian,” I remarked, rather seriously.
“Not have wine!” exclaimed she, after she had imbibed a glass of champagne. “Why, it would be no party at all without wine. I told Smith to bring the best, and plenty of it.”