sy her inspiration. To be sure, in England, butlers were
seldom "coloured," but in Cherry vale one had to make some concessions.

The butler was wearing his dress suit as he came bearing the oyster
cocktails.

"Hello, Snowball!" greeted Raymond Bonner, genially. "Didn't know you
were invited to-night."

Snowball? what a gosherie! With deliberate hauteur Missy spoke:

"Oh, Saunders, don't forget to fill the glasses with ice-water."

Raymond cast her an astonished look, but, perhaps because he was more
impressed by the formality of the function than he would have admitted,
refrained from any bantering comment.

The hostess, then, with a certain righteous complacence, lowered her
eyes to her cocktail glass.

Oh, heavens!

It was the first time, so carried away had she been with this new,
intoxicating feeling, that she had really noticed what she was
eating--how she was eating it.

She was eating her oysters with her after-dinner coffee spoon!

The tiny-pronged oyster fork was lying there on the cloth, untouched!

Oh, good heavens!

An icy chill of mortification crept down her spine, spread out through
her whole being. She had made a mistake--SHE, the hostess!

A whirlwind of mortal shame stormed round and round within her. If only
she could faint dead away in her chair! If only she could weep, and
summon mother! Or die! Or even if she could sink down under the
table and hide away from sight. But she didn't know how to faint; and
hostesses do not weep for their mothers; and, in real life, people never
die at the crucial moments; nor do they crawl under tables. All she
could do was to force herself at last, to raise her stricken eyelids
and furtively regard her guests.

Oh, dear heaven!

They were all--ALL of them--eating their oyster cocktails with their
after-dinner coffee spoons!

Missy didn't know why, at that sight, she had to fight off a spasm of
laughter. She felt she must scream out in laughter, or die.

All at once she realized that Mr. Brown was speaking to her.

"What's the matter?" he was saying. "Want to sneeze?"

That struck her so funny that she laughed; and then she felt better.

"I was just terribly upset," she found herself explaining almost
naturally, "because I suddenly found myself eating the oyster cocktail
with the coffee spoon."

"Oh, isn't this the right implement?" queried Mr. Brown, contemplating
his spoon. "Well, if you ask ME, I'm glad you started off with it--this
soup