I put on such a duck of a frock for dinner--one of the sweetest,
chastened simplicity, in black, showing peeps of skin through the thin
part at the top. Nothing could be more demure or becoming, and my hair
would not behave, and stuck out in rebellious waves and curls everywhere.
I thought it would be advisable not to be in too good time, so sauntered
down after I knew dinner was announced.
They were both standing on the hearth-rug. I always forget to count Mr.
Barton; he was in some chair, I suppose, but I did not notice him.
Mr. Carruthers is the taller--about one inch. He must be a good deal over
six feet, because the other one is very tall, too; but now that one saw
them together, Mr. Carruthers's figure appeared stiff and set besides Lord
Robert's, and he hasn't got nearly such a little waist. But they really
are lovely creatures, both of them, and I don't yet know which I like
best.
We had such an engaging time at dinner! I was as provoking as I could be
in the time, sympathetically, absorbingly interested in Mr. Barton's long
stories, and only looking at the other two now and then from under my
eyelashes; while I talked in the best demure fashion that I am sure even
Lady Katherine Montgomerie--a neighbor of ours--would have approved of.
They should not be able to say I could not chaperone myself in any
situation.
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