The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1892-11-22
AT HOME.

Lady Etheldreda Gordon was sat home"
1t was in London, of course, the BIRTH place
of such social gatherings. The recipe for
an "at home" Is simple. Take out all the
small tables, books, and tri1es that make
the room look homelike, arrange the sofas
and chairs against the walls, order IN more
lights and more flowers than are deemed
sufficient for ordinary home eyes and noses,
exhibit your lion and lioness, let your
guests be more numerous than your cubic
feet of space, cook them for an hour in
gas-heated atmosphere-and the desired re-
suit Is attained.
do not often attend such festivities, as
my lot is cast In the country; but once a
year / stay with an elderly cousin in South
Eaton Place, and she takes me prescribed
course OF tEeaters, concerts and "at homes"
much as later IN the year she adjourns TO
Homburg or Kissingen, and goes through a
course OF baths and tumblers OF highly ia
vored water.
1t is "the. thing" to do so, so she does It,
With large expenditure Of time. money
and pasteboard. Pasteboard Is the ammu-
milton that carries the outwOrks, storms the
strongholds, and is left afterward with
other debris, when the battle is over-meta-
phorically speaking.
When 1 make my yearly appearance In
fashionable society, look around with
amusement at the heads Of the young ladies
of the period. One year their amber, chest
nut or dusky tresses according to your
favorite novelist fall in loose knots at the
nape Of the neck, the next they creep slowly
up the head and cluster in sausage like
curls on the extreme top, next birds nest,
then a pineapple resting at an angle Of
forty-fve degrees.
Etheldreda's SAT Home" / know my host
slightly; he took me into dinner last week
at Cousin EIiZabeth's house, and for two
hours We discussed the weather. the menu
and fair trade, or free trade-l forgot which.
know my hostess gold-coloTed dress as
well as l know her; she wore it on the same
occasion. but / do not know their guests
The noise in the large drawing-room re-
minds me Of the parrot house in the
Geological gardens, but perhaps that is only
because / am not human macaw or cock
atoo myself. Cousin Elizabeth has wandered
off with an elderly diplomatist, / am
hemmed in by a fashionably dressed. stout
young matrcn and an attenuated young
man. II is impossible to move, so / resign
myself and ltsen to their conversation.
People do not usually con Ode secrets at the
top OF their voices.
$50 he went to Australia" the young ma
tron finished her story impressiyely.
but why?" urges the young man. who
has evidently not been attending.
mo one knows exactly. He was really
clever, you know, wrote books" Gin tone
OF awe land went everywhere. He was
private secretary to Disraeli or Gladstone.
relied with him about politics, and forbade
him the house. And she was a patient
Grizel-sort Of daughter, and-let him CO."
And Crofton went to Australia" the
young man repeats thoughtfully. He was
In my year at Cambridge and my first
friend. l should like to see him again; some
one told me he was coming home"
The conversation interested me- So an
other girl mean middle-sged woman
has been sacrificed to her fathers within.
IN m b arrttI In
Surtees asked me long ago. In that pleasant
May term at Cambridge. to be his wife,
had consented gladly, readily; but when he
asked my father to give his consent very
serious blow awaited us.
"Who Is Neville Surtees?" asked nv
father, blandly. 81 will never give nv only
child to nobody. The Surtses are in trade.
the son Is to be partner? No matter that
be is clever and an unpaid secretary to a
Cabinet Minister. all the more fool he my
out getting paid for it, If you marry Sur
tees, Dulce, you will never have farthing
of my money, and what is more, you will
never see my face again. So choose be-
tween u.s. You know l mean what say"
How well l remember his look, his eyes
glttering. his whole face set in lines of OBJ
stinate Immortality. Yes, / knew that be
meant what he said. and calling to mind the
lesson my mother taught me before she left
this weary life, namely, that b0noring your
parents included loving and obeying them,
I-sent Neville away.
What matter that my heart broke? He
could not have cared, for all these weary
years he never sent me one word of remem
brance, not even when-I became free.
heard through other friends that he had
thrown up his secretaryship and brillian
literary career and had gone abroad as {
manager OF colonial branch OF his father
business, but never anything more. Never
anything m0rel
'There he isl There is Crofton"
The voices break in on my reveyy ana