ly believed that for any one else to
receive on that day was a kind of infringement of copyright.

Miss Luscombe was wearing on this occasion a drab taffeta silk dress
with transparent sleeves and a low neck. She wore a rose in her hair, a
necklace, and long gloves, because she said she wouldn't have time to
dress again before going out to dinner.

About a dozen people were there--vague shamefaced young men with nothing
to say, and confident, satirical, fluent young men with a great deal to
laugh at. Most of the older women seemed a shade patronising in tone,
and looked as if they had never been there before. On the faces of the
young women and the girls could be read the resolution never to go there
again.

Mrs. Luscombe, the mother, was so refined that there was scarcely
anything of her; her presence was barely perceptible. She had learnt the
art of self-effacement to the point of showing no trace of being there
at all. To add to the effect of not being noticeable, she wore a dress
exactly the same colour as the sofa on which she sat--like those insects
who, when hiding from their foes, become the colour of the leaves on
which they live. She was practically invisible.

On the other hand, Miss Luscombe herself was very much there--very much
_en evidence_. Smiling, greeting, archly laughing, sweetly pouting;
coquetting, eating, playing, singing, acting--almost dancing--an ideal
and delightful hostess.

She said to every one as they arrived how sweet it was of them to come
so early, or how naughty it was of them to come so late, or how horrid
it was of them not to come last time, or how dear it would be of them if
they came next. She always introduced people to each other who were not
on speaking terms, and had intentionally cut each other for years. She
had a real genius for making people accidentally meet who had just
broken off their engagement, or had some other awkward reason for not
wishing to see each other--and then pushing them together so that they
could not get away. At heart she was intensely a peacemaker, but people
who had met there rarely made up their quarrels.

When the favourite actor arrived she introduced him to every one till he
was ready to drop, and when the great singer telegraphed he couldn't
come, she showed the wire to everybody. Most of the guests preferred his
not coming. Very few could have endured her triumph had he really
arrived. On the other hand, they would themselves have far pre