THOUGH I felt all right the next day, to please nurse I did not get up; but on Wednesday I did. At first my legs were very shaky, even for me: my cane was not enough; I had to hold on to the furniture besides to make my way about the room. But gradually that wore away, and by afternoon I was quite as well as usual; so on Thursday we went to the reception in the order first planned.

The Blackwoods live in a large old house, and by the time we got there—we were rather late—the parlours were quite crowded. I think the pater was a little nervous as we went up the palm-lined staircase; he hates an affair of this kind, and only the rare editions and a strong dislike to hurting the feelings of his old friends could have induced him to attend it. He kept Nannie close beside him, Nora and I following behind.

Mrs. Blackwood is a fine-looking old lady, with beautiful white hair, which she wears turned straight off her face; she gave us a warm welcome, and after walking father through the rooms, and introducing him to a number of people,—not one of whom he would have recognised five minutes after!—and after showing us the Corot, which is a beauty! she led the way to the library. It was a cosy room, for all it was so large. The walls were lined with books; a desk stood near one of the windows; some tables—on which were books, photos, and several handsome glass and china bowls filled with flowers—and a variety of comfortable chairs were scattered about; in a space between the book-shelves, and thrown into bold relief by the dark portiÈre behind it, was an exquisite marble LaocoÖn, and in the bay-window the beautiful Venus de Milo.

I should have enjoyed staying there, but we'd only been in a short while when Mrs. Blackwood's daughter came and carried us younger ones off to the drawing-room again. In vain Nannie and I politely protested that we should rather stay in the library; Mrs. Endicott was not to be resisted. "Your father and my mother enjoy looking at books more than anything else," she said pleasantly, as we made our reluctant way back; "but I know that young people like to be where there are life and gaiety,—and you haven't even had a cup of chocolate. Come this way, and I'll introduce you to Miss Devereaux."

She piloted us rapidly through the crowd to the upper end of the room, where at a table sat a young lady pouring chocolate, to whom she introduced us.

Taking my "thimbleful" of chocolate, I retreated to a corner where I could sit and sip and take observations unobserved. To begin with, I could not but notice the difference in my two sisters. Nannie had found a place on a lounge near the tea-table, and was gazing about her with the deepest interest,—her brown eyes all a-shine, the faintest ripple of a smile stirring her lips; to my eyes she looked very sweet! Nora stood, cup in hand, sipping her chocolate, and chatting as easily to Miss Devereaux and the different ones who came up as if she were in the habit of going to afternoon receptions every day in the week. I saw people look and look again at her, and it didn't surprise me, for Nora is a stunner, and no mistake. As Phil says, she carries herself as if she owned the whole earth, and she is self-possessed to a degree that is a constant surprise to us. If she weren't always so dead sure that she is right and everybody else wrong, we'd all think a great deal more of her; but as she is, one feels it a positive duty to snub her sometimes. We are proud of Nora's beauty, but she's the very last one we'd any of us go to for comfort or in a strait,—why, Betty'd be better, for all she's so fly-away and blunt.

Miss Devereaux was handsome, too: she was large and statuesque, with beautifully moulded throat and arms, and hair which rippled like that of my poor old plaster Juno at home,—in fact, she suggested to my mind some Greek goddess dressed up in silk and lace; I quite enjoyed looking at her, and would have liked to make a sketch of her. But she wasn't as nice as she looked; in her way she was as snobbish as is Chad. A tall, very richly dressed woman was brought up and introduced; she wore enormous diamond ear-rings, and her manner was even more condescending than that of the young goddess herself. She pulled forward a chair, completely barring the way to the table, and, seating herself, stirred her chocolate languidly.

Miss Devereaux was all attention; she offered almost everything on the table, and listened with the deepest interest while the diamond lady talked loudly and impressively of her last afternoon reception,—the distinguished people who were present, and what the music and refreshments cost. Then, suddenly remembering that she was "due at one of 'Mrs. Judge' Somebody's receptions,—they were always alagant affairs,"—the diamond lady put down her cup, from which she had barely taken a sip or two, and with a bow, and what Phil calls "a galvanised smile," sailed off to parts unknown.

"Such a charming woman!" murmured the goddess to Nannie.

Before Nannie could answer, there was a new claimant for refreshments,—a slender, rather spare little woman this time, dressed in a severely plain black gown; her hair was parted and pulled tightly away from her face; her bonnet was a good deal plainer and uglier than anything that nurse has ever had,—and she has rather distinguished herself in that line. This little woman was evidently not used to receptions and young goddesses. She seated herself on the extreme edge of the chair the diamond lady had just vacated, and after taking off her gloves, and laying them across her lap, she accepted her chocolate and cake with a deprecating air, as if apologising for the trouble she was causing. "Oh, thank you, thank you," she said gratefully; "you are very kind."

The young goddess gave her a haughty stare, and then assumed a bored expression that I could see made the poor little woman nervous. She stirred her chocolate violently, and drank half of the cupful at a draught; then, evidently considering it her duty to make conversation, she remarked, "Didn't we have an interesting address yesterday at the Missions House?" She glanced at Miss Devereaux as she spoke.

"Ah—indeed!" answered that young person, with another haughty glare that almost overcame the little woman. She got very red, and in her agitation drained her cup, and sat holding it. She looked thoroughly uncomfortable.

I'm not fond of addressing strangers, but I couldn't stand that sort of treatment any longer, and got on my feet with the desperate intention of immediately starting a lively conversation with this particular stranger, without regard to Miss Devereaux. But Nannie was ahead of me; bending forward, she said in her friendliest tone,—and Nancy's friendliest tone is worth hearing, I tell you,—"I read of it in the papers; it must have been very interesting."

The little woman's look of gratitude was positively pathetic.

"Yes, it was, very fine!" she said,—bending forward, and jerking her sentences out nervously,—"so many people, and such splendid speakers! I wish Mrs. Blackwood'd been there!" Then, waxing confidential, she went on in a lower key: "She and I used to be girls together,—ages ago. Then her folks took her to Europe to finish her education,—some people set such store by foreign education! We didn't meet again—though I heard of her off and on—till here, lately, when I came to New York to live. Of course—for old times' sake—I looked her up and called,—handsome house, isn't it? Seems like some people have everything,"—with a short sigh that sounded almost like a snort,—"but I must say Tilly isn't a bit stuck up over it,—never was. Say, who's she?" A quick sidelong motion of eyes and thumb in Miss Devereaux's direction gave point to this last question.

"I think her name—" began Nannie, but she was interrupted by a loud crash which seemed to come from one of the adjoining rooms. In an instant my twin was on her feet: "Oh, Felix!" she cried breathlessly, "that came from the library! Papa has knocked over something!"

The pater has an absent-minded way of upsetting things, and Nannie's tone carried conviction with it; so, as fast as I could, I followed in her wake as she threaded her way swiftly through the crowded room.

Nora raised her eyebrows with an air of mock resignation. "No use our all going," she said in an undertone as I went past her, and resumed her conversation with the gentleman to whom she had been talking.

Some people had collected in the doorway of the library by the time I got there, and I was delayed a minute or two in getting into the room; then I saw, at one glance, that our worst fears were realised. There stood my father, minus his spectacles, peering about him with a most anxious, bewildered expression on his face,—I was struck with how ill he looked! and around him on the polished floor lay the fragments of one of the Doulton bowls! The small table on which it had stood was-overturned, flowers were scattered in every direction, and among the ruins shone my father's glasses, broken in several pieces.

Nannie went straight to the pater's side and took his hand. "Felix and I are here, papa; what can we do for you?" she said. The colour was in her face; I know she felt embarrassed, but her voice was quite calm.

My father screwed up his eyes in a vain attempt to see the extent of the mischief: "I—I think—I think, my dear, that I've broken something," he said. At which very obvious statement there was a sound of smothered laughter at the door.

Nannie's colour deepened, and I believe I muttered something about finding Mrs. Blackwood; to tell the truth, I was so rattled—between sympathy for the pater and embarrassment at the accident—that I hardly knew what I was saying, but my father caught at it. "Yes, yes," he said nervously, "I must speak to our hostess; I must apologise for my awkwardness. Ask Mrs. Blackwood if she will be kind enough to step here, Felix—or stay, I will go to her."

"I'll find Mrs. Blackwood for you," volunteered one of the bystanders; but at that moment the little crowd at the door parted and in came Mrs. Blackwood, and who should be behind her but Max! I was delighted to see him. I felt that we were all right then, for Max always knows what to do; and I think Nannie felt as relieved as I did, for she gave a glad little cry as she held out her hand. Then she turned as red as a rose,—I suppose she suddenly realised how many people were looking at her; but evidently Max didn't mind them in the least, for he held on to Nannie's hand, and smiled, and looked at her just as kindly as if we were at home,—Max likes us all, but Nannie has always been his favourite.

In the mean time Mrs. Blackwood was trying, with exquisite tact, to make my father feel less uncomfortable. "It was the most absurd place to put a bowl of flowers," she asserted cheerfully, "on so slight a table, and so near the book-shelves. I've always declared that an accident would occur; now I can say, 'I told you so!' and that's such a satisfaction to a woman, you know."

She laughed merrily, but the pater still looked troubled. "It was a great piece of carelessness on my part," he repeated mournfully, for about the fifth time. "I stood looking over a volume I had taken from the shelf,—that, I am thankful to know, has not been injured" (with a hasty glance at the book still tightly clasped in his left hand),—"and becoming interested, I presume I forgot where I was, and—and leaned too heavily against the table. It gave way, and—this ruin is the result! I—I—cannot express to you how I regret the accident."

"Don't be troubled over it, dear friend, please don't," Mrs. Blackwood urged. "Nothing is broken but the bowl, and that may have been cracked before,—it seems to me that one of them was; let us rather rejoice that you were not hurt by your fall, for that would indeed have been a serious matter. Now I'm sure you want to resume looking over that 'AbbÉ MaritÉ;' isn't it quaint? and perhaps among Mr. Blackwood's glasses we may be able to find a pair that would suit your eyes for the nonce. I know how perfectly lost one feels without one's 'second eyes.' Shall we make the selection? Come, Felix and Nannie,—you, too, Max,—and help us get the right focus. Oh, please don't speak of going, Mr. Rose."

Chatting pleasantly to divert my father's mind from the accident, Mrs. Blackwood led us into her husband's smoking-room, where from his collection of spectacles and eyeglasses my father made a selection which enabled him to finish the "AbbÉ," and soon after that to get home with some degree of comfort.

There were no more contretemps that afternoon, I am thankful to say; Max went home and dined with us. He was in fine spirits,—so glad to get home again, he said,—and made even the pater smile over a description of what he calls his "adventures in the far West." With the exception of a short visit in the study, he spent the evening with us in the schoolroom, hearing all that has happened to us since he went away, and playing violin and piano duets with Nannie and me.

I intended to have had a talk with Max about Chad, but there was no opportunity on this evening; and besides, he looked so pleased when Nora said she thought that Chad was "nice"—and she claims to be so very fastidious! I can't understand it—that I concluded I'd wait until another time to air my opinion. I noticed that Phil didn't say anything for or against Chad: all the same, I shall speak, just as soon as I can get Max alone; for, if he doesn't know it already, he ought to be told the sort of individual his ward is. As far as I'm personally concerned, I'd put up with the fellow rather than trouble Max, but I've got to think of Phil.

After Max had taken his departure, and Betty and Jack had been walked off to bed, we four older ones sat talking for a few minutes. Phil, as usual, sat on the edge of the schoolroom table. "Well, you three gay and festive creatures," he said, with a comprehensive wave of his hand toward us, "what's your true and honest opinion of the afternoon's tea-fight, politely termed 'reception'? You needn't all speak at once, you know."

"Thanks awfully for the information," laughed Nora, making him a very graceful and sweeping bow. "Well, except for the unhappy quart d'heure that papa gave us, I enjoyed the reception immensely. Oh, I'd love to be out in society," she said, with sparkling eyes, "and meet lots of people, and go to balls and receptions and all those affairs every day of my life. That's what I call living,—not this stupid, humdrum school life; and I 'll have them all, too, some day, see if I don't," she ended, with a toss of her head and a little conscious laugh. Nora knows she's pretty; that's one of the things that spoil her.

Phil eyed her severely, wrinkling up his brows. "Eleanor, my love," he remarked, with his most fatherly air, "I beg that you will bear in mind the fable of the unwise canine who lost his piece of meat by trying to catch its larger reflection in the stream, and endeavour to profit thereby. No charge made for that good advice. Now, Nancy, let's hear from you."

Nannie hesitated a little. "Why—I think I enjoyed it," she said slowly; "yes, I did."

"What! did you?" I exclaimed in surprise. "You mean to say you enjoyed sitting on that lounge and seeing Miss Devereaux snub that unfortunate little woman in the hideous bonnet?"

"Well, no, not that part," admitted Nannie.

"And did you enjoy the pater's smashing the Doulton bowl?"

"Oh, no, of course not," Nannie returned, somewhat indignantly.

"Then where did the enjoyment come in?" I persisted.

"I can't tell you why, or when, or how, but I enjoyed it," was Nannie's reply; and then, "without rhyme or reason," as nurse says, she blushed a vivid red.

"Do look at her!" teased Phil. "Why, Nancy, it isn't against the law to have enjoyed yourself. What're you blushing for?"

"I'm sure I don't know," my twinnie answered, with such a look of perplexity in her sweet, honest eyes that we had to laugh. Whereupon she blushed rosier than ever, even to her ears and her pretty throat, and running over to me, hid her flushed face on my shoulder. "Please stop teasing, Fee," she whispered.

Now if anybody was teasing just then Phil was in it, and I started to tell her so; but Phil interrupted: "One more county to be heard from," he declared, "and that's you, most noble Felix. Are you, like Nora, hankering after the unattainable in the shape of daily receptions?"

"Can't say that I'm devoured with a desire that way," I confessed with a grin. "I wouldn't go over this afternoon's experience for a farm! As they say in the novels, my feelings can be better imagined than described when I walked into the Blackwoods' library and saw the pater standing in the midst of the shattered vase À la Marius in the ruins of Carthage. Had I but owned a genii, we'd have been whisked out of that room and home in about two seconds. No, on calm reflection, I forswear receptions for the future."

"Hullo!" exclaimed Phil, suddenly, "I say,—come to think of it,—how d'you suppose the Blackwoods enjoyed the orgy?"

We looked at each other. "I said I enjoyed myself," asserted Nora, with a superior and very virtuous air. "It's the least one can do when people go to the trouble and expense of entertaining one."

Nannie sat up and looked contrite. "Poor Mrs. Blackwood!" she said; "Doulton is her favourite china, and that bowl was a beauty!"

"I guess they got the worst of it," I said to Phil.

"I shouldn't wonder if they had," he answered with a nod. "Moral: Don't give afternoon receptions. Let's be off to bed. Good-night, all."

XII.