but at supper for eight
or twelve, the hostess keeps _her_ place and the host moves a place to the
right or left because the hostess at supper pours coffee or chocolate. And
although the host keeps his seat at a formal dinner in honor of the lady
he takes in, at a little dinner of eight, where there is no guest of
honor, the host does not necessarily keep his seat at the expense of his
wife unless he carves, in which case he must have the end place; just as
at supper she has the end place in order to pour.

=SIDEWALK, HALL, AND DRESSING ROOMS=

One can be pretty sure on seeing a red velvet carpet spread down the steps
of a house (or up! since there are so many sunken American basement
entrances) that there are people for dinner. The carpet is kept rolled, or
turned under near the foot (or top) of the steps until a few minutes
before the dinner hour when it is spread across the width of the pavement
by the chauffeur or whoever is on duty on the sidewalk. Very big or formal
dinners often have an awning, especially at a house where there is much
entertaining and which has an awning of its own; but at an ordinary house,
for a dinner of twelve or so, the man on the pavement must, if it is
raining, shelter each arriving guest under his coachman's umbrella from
carriage to door. If it does not rain, he merely opens the doors of
vehicles. Checks are never given at dinners, no matter how big; every
motor is called by address at the end of the evening. The Worldly car is
not shouted for as "Worldly!" but "xox Fifth Avenue!" The typical coachman
of another day used to tell you "carriages are ordered for ten-fifteen."
Carriages were nearly always ordered for that hour, though with slow and
long dinners no one ever actually left until the horses had exercised for
at least an hour! But the chauffeur of to-day opens the door in
silence--unless there is to be a concert or amateur theatricals, when he,
like the coachman says, "Motors are ordered for twelve o'clock," or
whatever hour he is told to say.

In this day of telephone and indefinite bridge games, many people prefer
to have their cars telephoned for, when they are ready to go home. Those
who do not play bridge leave an eight o'clock dinner about half past ten,
or at least order their cars for that hour.

In all modern houses of size there are two rooms on the entrance floor,
built sometimes as dressing-rooms and nothing else, but more often they
are small reception rooms,