For, at the special solicitation of Mr.Abel Newt, Mrs.Plumer had consented to accept an invitation to a little supper at his rooms--very small and very select; Mrs.Newt, of course, to be present.
The Plumers arrived, and Laura Magot; but a note from mamma excused her absence--papa somewhat indisposed, and so forth; and Mr.Abel himself so sorry--but Mrs.Plumer knows what these husbands are! Meanwhile the ladies have thrown off their shawls.
The dinner is exquisite, and exquisitely served.

Prince Abel, with royal grace, presides.

By every lady's plate a pretty bouquet; the handsomest of all not by Miss, but by Mrs.Plumer.Flowers are every where.

It is Grand Street, indeed, in the city; but the garden at Pinewood, perhaps, does not smell more sweetly.
"There is, indeed, no perfume of the clover, which is the very breath of our Northern June, Mrs.Plumer; but clover does not grow in the city, Miss Grace." Prince Abel begins the little speech to the mother, but his voice and face turn toward the daughter as it ends.
Flowers are in glasses upon the mantle, and in vases of many-colored materials and of various shapes upon tables about the room.

The last new books, in English editions often, and a few solid classics, are in sight.
Pictures also.
"What a lovely Madonna!" says Miss Plumer, as she raises her eyes to a beautiful and costly engraving that hangs opposite upon the wall; which, indeed, was intended to be observed by her.
"Yes.