Who
else is to be of your party?"
Mr. Schneidekoupon named his list.
"And for Saturday evening at seven, did you say?"
"Saturday at seven."
"I fear there is little chance of my attending, but I will not
absolutely decline. Perhaps when the moment arrives, I may find
myself able to be there. But do not count upon me--do not count
upon me. Good day, Mr.
Schneidekoupon."
Schneidekoupon was rather a simple-minded young man, who saw
no deeper than his neighbours into the secrets of the universe, and
he went off swearing roundly at "the infernal airs these senators
give themselves." He told Mrs.
Lee all the conversation, as indeed he was compelled to do under
penalty of bringing her to his party under false pretences.
"Just my luck," said he; "here I am forced to ask no end of people
to meet a man, who at the same time says he shall probably not
come. Why, under the stars, couldn't he say, like other people,
whether he was coming or not?
I've known dozens of senators, Mrs. Lee, and they're all like that.
They never think of any one but themselves."
Mrs. Lee smiled rather a forced smile, and soothed his wounded
feelings; she had no doubt the dinner would be very agreeable
whether the Senator were there or not; at any rate she would do all
she could to carry it off well, and Sybil should wear her newest
dress. Still she was a little grave, and Mr. Schneidekoupon could
only declare that she was a trump; that he had told Ratcliffe she
was the cleverest woman he ever met, and he might have added
the most obliging, and Ratcliffe had only looked at him as though
he were a green ape.
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