The cook was
sick, and the dinner a failure; her dressmaker had disappointed her in
not finishing her dress for the great ball at Mrs. Fitz Noodle's, that
evening; and Annie, her maid, was down with one of her nervous headaches,
and she would be obliged to send for a hair-dresser.
Louis Castrani was a guest in the house, by Archer's invitation--for
the two gentlemen had become friends, warmly and deeply attached to each
other, and Mrs. Trevlyn could not help fretting over the unfortunate
condition of her _cuisine_.
She was looking very cross, as she sat in the back parlor, adjoining the
tasteful little morning-room, where she spent most of her time, and where
the gentlemen were in the habit of taking their books and newspapers when
they desired it quiet. If she had known that Mr. Castrani was at that
moment lying on the lounge in the morning-room, the door of which was
slightly ajar, she might have dismissed that unbecoming frown, and put
her troubles aside. Mr. Trevlyn entered, just as she had for the
twentieth time that day arrived at the conclusion that she was the most
sorely afflicted woman in the world, and his first words did not tend to
give her any consolation.
"I am very sorry, Mrs. Trevlyn, that I am to be deprived of the privilege
of attending the ball to-night.
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