COMMUTER'S WIFE 201 



Perfectly true. On the appointed day Evan came 

 home a little after four, donned his newest frock 

 coat, his most deeply creased trousers, and an ob- 

 streperous tie, and pervaded the rooms smiling, and 

 at intervals cheerfully partaking of cake which he 

 never eats, and ice-cream, which always gives him a 

 pain in his nose. Father wafted uneasily about, wear- 

 ing his genial expression, but avoided emphatic ex- 

 pression of opinion upon any subject. 



The good things disappeared rapidly, and at one 

 time I feared a famine, but I had ordered in accordance 

 with the number invited, and not on the two-thirds prin- 

 ciple of the society which suffers from social surfeit. 



The cream pistache cake was the belle of the ball. 

 It was eyed dubiously at first, but every one took a 

 second piece, and Mrs. Haddock from Centreville, dear 

 soul, who had absolutely hired a livery team for the 

 ten-mile drive, an unheard-of extravagance, took a 

 third piece, which she dexterously concealed in her 

 large squirrel muff, whispering to a neighbour : 



" That mustache cake beats me ! It just creams in 

 your mouth without chewin', though the fillin' does 

 appear to be of green peanuts, and the icin' beat up 

 with spinach. I feel called to take a piece home to 

 see what my son's wife makes of it. And do you 

 know," subduing her voice still further, " I'd power- 



