And in a few moments, simply, it seemed, by the natural law of
gravitation, without any engineering whatever, Mrs. Upjohn's guests had
resolved themselves into two distinct parties, the elders all in the
drawing-room, the younger ones in the parlor across the hall, too far off
from Mr. Webb for their gay whispering to disturb that worthy as he
boldly plunged headlong at his work, to do or die written on every
feature of his thin, long face.

"So this is what the party turned out, Miss Masters, is it?" said
Moulton, pulling his moustache as he stood up beside her. "A first-class
Dorcas society."

"Charity covereth a multitude of sins," said Bell, crossly, giving a
vindictive snap with her scissors, "but it won't begin to cover the
enormity of Mrs. Upjohn's transgressions on this occasion. You gentlemen
must be very devoted to atone to us for the button-holes. There's Mr. De
Forest standing in the other room looking as if he wished he were dead.
Go and bring him here."

Thus summoned, Mr. De Forest came leisurely enough, looking, if possible,
a little more languid and blasé than he did in the morning. Bell
instantly made a place for him on the sofa by her side.

"Thanks, I would rather stand. I can take it all in better."

"Well?" asked Bell, after a pause, looking saucily up at him. "Was I
right this morning? Didn't we look prettier then?"

"Infinitely."