re mystified could she have been
cognizant at this juncture of her husband's and of Miss Grace Winthrop's
and of Mr. Livingstone's thoughts.

The first of these was thinking: "It isn't Van Rensselaer Livingstone,
any more than I am; though he certainly looks like him. And I'm sure
that he knows that he don't know me. And I think that we've managed to
get into a blank idiotic mess!"

And the second of these was thinking: "If he's been in Europe for the
past ten years, there's not one chance in fifty that I ever have laid
eyes on him. But I know I have!"

And the third of these was thinking: "There isn't man in the room who
looks enough like Dicky Smith to be his tenth cousin. But if ever the
goodness of heaven was shown in the affairs of men it is shown here to
me to-night!"

VI.

Even as the sun triumphs over the darkness of night and the gloom of the
tempest, so did Mrs. Rittenhouse Smith's dinner-party emerge radiantly
from the sombre perils which had beset it. It was a brilliant,
unqualified success.

Miss Winthrop was good enough to say, when the evening was ended--saying
it in that assured, unconscious way that gives to the utterances of
Boston people so peculiar a charm--"Really, Mrs. Smith, you have given
me not only a delightful dinner, but a delightful surprise; I would not
have believed, had I not seen it myself, that outside of Boston so many
clever people could be brought together!"

And Mr. Hutchinson Port, upsetting all his traditions, had kept up a
running fire of laudatory comment upon the dinner that had filled
Mrs. Smith's soul with joy. She had expected him, being cut off by her
presence from engaging in his accustomed grumbling, to maintain a moody
silence. She had not expected praise: and she valued his praise the more
because she knew that he spoke out of the fulness of his wisdom; and
because in a matter of such vital moment as eating she knew that she
could trust him to be sincere. His only approach to invidious comment
was in regard to the terrapin.

With the grave solemnity that marks the serving of this delicacy in
Philadelphia; in the midst of a holy calm befitting a sacred rite, the
silver vessels were carried around the board, and in hushed rapture (a
little puzzling to the Bostonians) the precious mixture was ladled out
upon the fourteen plates; and Mr. Hutchinson Port, as the result of
many years of soulful practice, was able to secure to himself at one
dexterous scoop mo