Everything was natural and easy. Lord L. laughed as heartily as T. does, and M. talked to me across the table.
My dinner the next day was far more trying in its circumstance than that at L—— house. Accident had prevented my seeing the lady who invited me. I unwarily accepted the invitation; for, till you have passed the threshold of acquaintance, it is very awkward to plunge into a dinner-party. My invitations had usually been at seven. I had carelessly forgotten the hour named in Mrs. ——'s note, and we concluded it was safest to take the average hour. The distance was three miles from Halfmoon-street, longer than I supposed; our dawdling coachman drove slower than usual; and all the while I was tormenting myself with the fear I might be too late, and that Mrs. —— was thinking what a bore it was to be compelled to civility to a blundering stranger. To put the last drop in my brimming cup of vexation, the coachman made a mistake, and had twice to drive round a large square; and when J finally arrived I was ushered into an empty room—"portentous!" thought I. The gentleman of the house entered, and, disconcerted at my awkward position, and humanely hoping to help me out of it, he said, stammering, "There is some mistake!" "Heaveans, yes!" I groaned, inwardly. "Our invitation," he continued, "mentioned six as our dinner hour. We waited till seven, and it is now past" (past! it was nearly eight)—"you can do as you please about going in!" I looked to the window—the carriage
