She entered the box-tree seclusion with the lower rotundities of her face hastily modelled into the resemblance of an over-benevolent smile—a contortion which neglected to spread its intended geniality upward to the exasperated eyes and anxious forehead.
"I think your mother wants to speak to you, Frank," Alice said, upon this advent.
Mrs. Dowling nodded to her. "Good evening. Miss Adams," she said. "I just thought as you and Frank weren't dancing you wouldn't mind my disturbing you———"
"Not at all," Alice murmured.
Mr. Dowling seemed of a different mind. "Well, what do you want?" he inquired, whereupon his mother struck him roguishly with her fan.
"Bad fellow!" She turned to Alice. "I'm sure you won't mind excusing him to let him do something for his old mother, Miss Adams."
"What do you want?" the son repeated.
"Two very nice things," Mrs. Dowling informed him. "Everybody is so anxious for Henrietta Lamb to have a pleasant evening, because it's the very first time she's been anywhere since her father's death, and of course her dear grandfather's an old friend of ours, and———"
