before her. She had once spent a few days at Tracy Park, as Arthur's
guest, and had felt great restraint even in the presence of Mrs.
Crawford and Amy, whom she recognized as ladies notwithstanding their
position in the house. On that occasion she had, with her
brother-in-law, been invited to dine at Brier Hill, the country-seat of
Mrs. Grace Atherton, a gay widow, whose dash and style had completely
overawed the plain, matter-of-fact Dolly, who did not know what half the
dishes were, or what she was expected to do. But, by watching Arthur,
and declining some things which she felt sure were beyond her
comprehension, she managed tolerably well, though when the dinner was
over, and she could breathe freely again, she found that the back of her
new silk gown was wet with perspiration, which had oozed from every pore
during the hour and a half she had sat at the table. And even then her
troubles were not ended, for coffee was served in the drawing-room, and
as Arthur took his clear, she did not know whether she was expected to
do the same or not, but finally ventured to say she would have hers with
'trimmin's.' There was a mischievous twinkle in Mrs. Atherton's eyes
which disconcerted her so much that she spilled her coffee in her lap,
and felt, as she afterward told a friend to whom she was describing the
dinner, as if she could have been knocked down with a feather.

'Such folderol!' she said. 'Changing your plates all the time--eating
peas in the winter greener than grass, with nothing under the sun with
them, and drinking coffee out of a cup about as big as a thimble. Give
me the good old-fashioned way, I say, with peas and potatoes, and meat,
and things, and cups that will hold half a pint and have some thickness
that you can feel in your mouth.'

And now she was to exchange the good, old-fashioned way for what she
termed 'folderol,' and for a time she did not like it. But her husband