nner party; I noted with amusement the lifted eyebrows, the
expressions of wonder and resentment on the faces of some of the
guests. Nor did it seem to add to their pleasure that their hostess
devoted herself to Dad, while the duke and Blakely developed a
spirited, though friendly, rivalry as to which should monopolize
little Mimi.

But the real sensation was to occur when the champagne was poured.
(I could hardly believe my eyes, of my ears, either). For who should
rise in his place but Dad! Yes, there he stood, the old darling, a
brimming champagne glass in his hand, a beatific expression on his
face. And this is what he was saying:

"Our hostess has asked me to do something, which is to announce the
engagement of my daughter and her son. Let us drink to their
happiness."

"Bravo!" cried the Duke. "I give the American three cheers: Rah,
rah, rah!" "How delightfully boyish the dear Duke is," observed Mrs.
Sanderson-Spear, beaming at him from across the table.

"So ingenious, I mean so ingenuous," assented a languid lady from
San Francisco. "But we must stand up; toute le monde is standing up,
my dear."

And so it was, standing up to drink our healths, Blakely's and mine,
while Blakely held my hand under the table.

"Bravo!" cried the Duke. "It ees delightful. I cannot make the
speech, mais, mademoiselle, monsieur--I drink your health." He
drained his glass, then flung it, with a magnificent gesture, over
his shoulder. "It ees so we drink to royalty," he said.

Such a noble example naturally had its effect; there followed a
perfect shower of glasses. Indeed, I think every one at table
indulged in this pretty piece of extravagance except the third son
of an English baronet, who was too busy explaining how it was done
at home: "Purely a British custom, you understand--the wardroom of a
man-of-war, d'ye see.--They were officers of a Scotch regiment, and
they drank it standing on their chairs, with one foot on the table.
And, by gad, I didn't care for it!"--No doubt I should have learned
more concerning this purely British custom if the Pierpont Morgan of
Pennsylvania hadn't called on Blakely for a speech, just then. Poor
Blakely! He didn't know at all how to make a speech. Thought I must
say I was rather glad of it; the most tiresome thing about Americans
is their eternal speechmaking, I think.

Blakely having faltered his few words of thanks, some one proposed
the duke's health; but that had to wait till new gl