Connecticut western news., 1889-03-20
THE DINNER PARTY.
BY EMMA A. OFFER.

"You'll come, won't you, my dear7" said Mrs. Bostwick, adjusting her velvet wrap as she arose, the long jets on her dress jingling softly. '.There will be only ourselves and my future son. in law, MT. Gilman, and Mr. Samson, our pas tor, and Eveline Gordon and her broth er Just an informal little dinner. I'll send the ecarriage for you; you mustn't fail me-"
 ''And she called her lunch party last month just simple little affair."" said Jessie, sitting down on a stool at her grandmother's feet, when she had gone; "and then how felt in my old brown cashmere, among the satins and the dia- monds! And I've nothing but my poor old pink thing for this. oughtn't to keep it up, grandma. She's very kind, of course, but because she was friend of Aunt Mary's isn't any reason why she should try to get Aunt Mary's poor lit tie niece into society. And I can't af- ford it; and it would be easier for me if Mrs. Bostwick would stop inviting me. I don't know why she doesw
 Grandma, smiling down fondly on the gentle grand d-daughter whom she had brought up, thought she knew.
 Even beyond Mrs. Bostwick's un- doubted kindness of heart there were obvious reasons. An uncommonly bright and pretty girl was an attraction and addition in anybody's parlor and at anybody's table.
 ''Keep on if you enjoy it, dear," said grandma, kindly.
 "rll go tonight, because I've prom ised; and then I'm going to tell Mrs. Bostwick," said Jessie, bravely, ''that ] can't afford it."
 She was sensible girl, and she felt no regret for the decision, not even when she stood before her glass, that evening, in the told pink thing" looking hcl prettiest and feeling her brightest.
 The flowers at her corsage had cost moro than she could we'll afford, and the bugled ruching crushed by her round | chin had taken the last dollar in hel purse, and she shook her yellow head at her attra ctiye ref1eot,on
 ''You look as gay as a new pennyp said grandma, admiringly. 'And you call to mind-I want thinking of it. but you take me right back to one night, summer before last, when we was out to your Uncle Joseph's. You was going down the road to some kind of doings, with the young folks, and you had a l pink dress with some flowers stuck on, just as you've got now. S'pose you've forgot it2'
 Jessie's face was lowered. It had grown red and warm, and her eyes were heightened, and yet softened.
 Forgotten it2 No: and she knew she never should forget it. The dress had been pink gingham, and the flower: some witty little "Chinesc- globe-fow CTS" that grew in Uncle Joseph's yard and the occasion had been ''pound. ! party at the little parsonage.
 But it had been the happiest summer in her life. In tho face of all the gaie. ties that had followed, Jessie con fessed 1t.
 She was only seventeen then, and Al fred Foster was twenty. He had live6 next to Uncle Joseph's--a hard working farmers boy, tall, red-handed, brown. faced, and perhaps little awkward But he had fine eyes and a gentle voice, and ia better manners than her cousins, Bob ant Seldon, and they had won their way into Jessie's soft heart
 Had he cared for her2 She did no know-only, coming home from thu ministers that night, he had been hesi tdilt duu SedluhAel uuS Ae htt,t SCeIIltl as though he was trying to say some thing he was half afraid to say; ano when he left her at the door, he hat pressed her hand very hard, and ling cred a little.
 And the next week they had com back to the city. and that had been tn end.
 We'll, it had been boy and girl affai at the best, and Jessie had tried to for get it. But she had never quite sue ceeded. And in the depths of her hear she had cherished faint hope of meet ing him again some time.
 It was not likely, since Uncle Josep had moved to Dakota. But the though