"Rotha and I dine early, these summer days," said Mrs. Mowbray; "and I did not wish to starve you when I asked you to stay to tea. This is not dinner, nor any meal that deserves a name—but perhaps you will kindly put up with it, in place of dinner."
"Dinner!" said Mr. Southwode. "This looks festive!"
"O we are always festive in vacation time," said Rotha joyously. "In other houses people call in numbers to help them make merry; here we are merry when the people go!"
They were softly merry round that board. Rotha had got back her gayety, and Mrs. Mowbray was the most charming of hostesses. No one could take such care of her guests; no one could make the time pass so pleasantly; no one had such store of things to tell or to talk of, that were worth the while, and that at the same time were not within the reach of most people; no one had a more beautiful skill to give the conversation a turn that might do somebody good, without in the least allowing it to droop in interest. To-day there was no occasion for this particular blessed faculty to be called into exercise; she could let the talk run as it would; and it ran delightfully. In general society Mr. Southwode was very apt to play a rather quiet part; keeping the ball going indeed, but doing it rather by apt suggestion and incentive applied to other people; this evening he came out and talked, as Rotha was accustomed to hear him; seconding Mrs. Mowbray fully, and making, which I suppose was partly his purpose, an engrossing entertainment for Rotha.
Following a little pause which occurred in the conversation, Mrs. Mowbray broke out,—
"What are you going to do about Mrs. Busby?"
The question was really addressed to Rotha; but as Rotha did not immediately answer, Mr. Southwode took it up, and asked "in what respect?"
"Is she to be invited?"
"I was just talking to Mr. Southwode about it," said Rotha. "Why should she be invited? It would be no pleasure to any one."
"It would be a pleasure to her."