“WELL, I think they might have asked me to dinner, too,” thought Girlie, when she found herself alone. “I don’t think it’s at all polite of them to have left me by myself;” and she was just walking to the door to go out, when two ladies entered. They were beautifully dressed and wore long court trains and a quantity of jewellery. They were both very plain and did not look at all amiable.

“I suppose this is she,” said one, stopping when she saw Girlie. “We are the Wallypug’s sisters, Belinda and Lucinda,” she said, “and the Wallypug says that you are to join us at dinner, so you had better go and dress.”

“I’m very sorry,” said Girlie, “but I have no other dress here.”

“Hum! well, you can’t go in that, that’s certain!” said Lucinda, who was the eldest. “She’s very plain, isn’t she?” she continued, turning to her sister.

“Oh! downright ugly!” replied Belinda. “No style or manners. Aren’t you going to do your hair up?” she cried, staring at Girlie.

“I’ve never had it done up yet,” said Girlie. “I’m not nearly old enough.”

“What nonsense!” said Belinda, who looked about fifty. “You don’t hear me say that. Have you ever been to Court before, child?” she went on.

“No, I haven’t,” said Girlie.

“Ah! I thought not,” said Belinda, sniffing contemptuously. “A pretty figure you’ll cut in Society. Where are your jewels?”

“Oh! I haven’t any!” said Girlie. “I have a little gold chain and a locket, but Mamma will never let me wear them; she says that jewellery is not suitable for children.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” said Belinda impatiently. “What accomplishments have you?” she asked after a pause.

“I can play the piano a very little,” said Girlie, “and I am taking singing lessons.”

“Is that all?” asked Belinda.

“I can recite one or two poems,” said Girlie.

“Recite!” said Lucinda in a commanding tone, and the two old ladies sat down and fanned themselves affectedly.

Girlie thought for a moment or two, and then stood up and repeated the following words, although she did not at all remember ever having heard them before:—

“There! there! that will do,” interrupted Belinda, “that’s horribly rude and you recite it very badly. Don’t you know anything else?”

“I know ‘The Lobster and the Buttercup,’” said Girlie.

“Repeat it then,” cried both sisters at once.

Girlie started again:—

“Well, that’s a little better, certainly,” said Belinda when she had finished. “But why is it called ‘The Lobster and the Buttercup?’”

“I don’t know,” said Girlie, “and I can’t think where I learned it; the words seemed to come into my head all at once. I’m afraid it’s very foolish,” she added apologetically.

“Oh! it’s positively absurd!” agreed Belinda, “but there, what can you expect from a person who has never been in Society? There goes the dinner gong,” she continued, at the sound of a gong from the next room, and, followed by Lucinda and Girlie, she led the way to the door at the side of the throne.

In the ante-room adjoining Girlie found the Doctor-in-law putting on a pair of white kid gloves.

“May I take you in to dinner?” he asked, bowing politely and offering his arm.

“Thank you very much,” said Girlie, laying her hand on his arm and feeling quite “grown up.”

“This way,” said the Doctor-in-law, pushing aside some heavy curtains and leading Girlie to a seat at the long table which reached the whole length of the handsome Dining Hall in which they now found themselves.

The Wallypug and most of the guests were already seated, and Girlie recognised a great many of the creatures she had seen in the other room, when she looked around.

“What are we waiting for?” asked the Doctor-in-law of one of the Footmen, of whom there seemed to be a great number. They were all lizards and dressed alike in handsome liveries of green and gold.

“There are not nearly enough plates to go round,” said the Footman in an anxious whisper, “and so we have had to send out to borrow some;” and he hurried away, counting the guests on his way, and then making a calculation on his fingers, and shaking his head mournfully all the while.

After everybody else was seated, the King’s Minstrel came strutting into the room, dangling his hands as usual, and nodding in a patronising kind of way to Girlie; he threw himself down in an unoccupied chair next to her.

“Charming menu, isn’t it?” remarked the Doctor-in-law, handing her a highly decorated card on which Girlie read the following words:—

And on the other side of the card Girlie read:

“Oh! I’ve heard of hunting for a needle in a bottle of hay,” thought Girlie.

“Do you know why it’s called a menu?” asked the Doctor-in-law, looking over her shoulder.

“No,” said Girlie. “It’s French for something, isn’t it?”

“No,” said the Doctor-in-law, “it’s English, and it’s called a menu for two reasons; first, because it’s what they mean you to have, and, secondly, because it’s between me and you.”

“Oh!” said Girlie. “And why is it called a Fancy Dinner Party, please?” she asked.

“You’ll see directly,” replied the Doctor-in-law, as the Footman came round with the soup plates.

“Thick or clear, Miss?” he asked when he came to Girlie.

“Thick, please,” said Girlie, “because,” she thought, “Air soup or Water broth must be so very thin.”

The Lizard quickly put down a hot, empty plate in front of her, and then hurried away.

“Have you got what you fancied?” asked the Doctor-in-law politely.

“I haven’t anything at all but an empty plate,” said Girlie.

“What did you fancy?” asked the Doctor-in-law.

“Mock treacle,” said Girlie, referring to the card.

“Well, now, you must fancy that you have got it,” said the Doctor-in-law. “That’s why it’s called a Fancy Dinner Party,” he continued, breaking some imaginary bread into his empty soup plate and then pretending to eat some with a spoon.

Girlie saw that every one else was doing the same sort of thing, so she thought that she had better follow their example.

“Although,” she thought, “I should think it must be very unsatisfactory, if you are really hungry.”

“Delicious, isn’t it?” asked the Doctor-in-law, wiping his lips with his serviette.

“There doesn’t seem to be much flavour in it,” said Girlie doubtfully.

“Ah! you should have fancied real turtle, like me,” said the Doctor-in-law.

“But I don’t see it down,” said Girlie, referring to the card again.

“Oh! that doesn’t matter in the least,” replied the Doctor-in-law. “You can fancy just whatever you like; it doesn’t make the slightest difference. That’s the best of these Fancy Dinner Parties.”

Girlie thought that, at least, it must be a very cheap way of entertaining your friends, but she did not like to say so for fear of being thought rude.

“Have you found out what a Goo is?” she asked presently, while the Footmen were removing the plates.

“Oh, I knew all along, my dear,” said the Doctor-in-law smilingly.

“Oh! did you? What is it, please?” asked Girlie, who thought that she was really going to find out at last.

“I cannot possibly tell you under four shillings and ninepence-three-farthings,” said the Doctor-in-law. “But I’ll tell you twice for six shillings, if you like,” he added considerately.

“Oh dear!” said Girlie, greatly disappointed. “I’ve told you before that I really have no money at all with me.”

“Then,” said the Doctor-in-law, pushing his chair back and getting up indignantly, “I don’t think that you are at all a respectable person, and I shall certainly not sit by you any longer. You are the most unprofitable person that I have ever met with,” he added over his shoulder as he walked away.

“Oh dear!” thought Girlie, “now he’s offended with me because I haven’t any money.” But she consoled herself with the thought that it was really rather fortunate that she hadn’t; “For I am sure he would soon get it all away from me, if I had,” she said to herself.

Next to where the Doctor-in-law had been sitting was a little gentleman in brown, with only one eye and a very turned-up nose, who kept staring at Girlie with his one eye in a very confusing manner. Girlie fully expected him to say something, but he only continued to stare.

“Perhaps he wishes me to say something first,” she thought. “I hope you are enjoying your dinner, sir,” she said aloud, very politely.

“A continual mind is a contemptuous feast,” remarked the little man, with a sneer.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand you,” said Girlie.

“Of course not—nobody ever does,” said the little man; “that’s why I’m called an Enigma. I can say things far more imcomprehensibly misunderstandable than that,” he added.

“Oh, please don’t!” said Girlie. “I can’t follow you as it is.”

“Very well, then,” said the Enigma. “Pray allow me to meditate in silence;” and he folded his arms and sat perfectly still, staring up at Girlie as before.

“Pass his plate,” said the King’s Minstrel, who had been greedily pretending to eat the whole time, and had not spoken a word to any one before. “He won’t want any more.”

Girlie passed the plate, which was perfectly empty. “So it can’t possibly do him any harm,” she thought.

“I wonder what he fancied,” said the King’s Minstrel, looking first into the plate and then turning it over and looking underneath.

“Food for reflection. It will do you good,” said the Enigma, who had overheard him.

The King’s Minstrel nervously dropped the plate. “It doesn’t agree with me,” he said hurriedly.

“H’m! I don’t wonder at it,” remarked the Enigma contemptuously, and then sat still, staring as before.

There was an awkward silence for some time, and, at last, Girlie asked the King’s Minstrel whether he had found out what a Goo was yet.

“Oh yes,” answered the King’s Minstrel, immediately regaining his conceited air. “My uncle, the Duke, keeps an enormous quantity of them.”

“Oh! what are they like, please?” asked Girlie eagerly.

“Oh, the usual kind; some large and some small,” said the King’s Minstrel evasively.

“But what are they?—birds, or animals, or what?” asked Girlie.

“Well, to tell you the truth,” said the King’s Minstrel, “they are neither one nor the other, but rather more like the other than the one.”

“How many legs have they?” asked Girlie.

“A few,” said the King’s Minstrel.

“Oh dear! How many do you mean?” asked Girlie, who was getting rather impatient.

“Some at each corner,” replied the King’s Minstrel solemnly; and then, taking up her plate, he looked into it and inquired what she had fancied.

“Oh! I forgot to fancy anything,” said Girlie. “I can’t see that it makes any difference.”

“Very well, then, I shall fancy hothouse screeches,” said the King’s Minstrel, by which Girlie knew that they had reached dessert, and that the Dinner Party would soon be over.

Just then a loud commotion arose at the other end of the room, causing all to raise hastily from their seats in alarm. It turned out that the old Cockatoo, who had been arguing with the black Poodle as to what the Wallypug should be compelled to fancy, had at last savagely bitten him, and was being turned out of the room, screaming and kicking; and, to make matters worse, in the midst of all this confusion the lights went out.