her, and a coldness sprang up between us. She happened to be the
certain celebrated authoress; she had changed her place at the last
moment so as to avoid sitting next to another lady novelist, whom she
hated.

One has to shift oneself, sometimes, on these occasions. A newspaper
man came up to me last Ninth of November at the Mansion House.

"Would you mind changing seats with me?" he asked. "It's a bit
awkward. They've put me next to my first wife."

I had a troubled evening myself once long ago. I accompanied a young
widow lady to a musical At Home, given by a lady who had more
acquaintances than she knew. We met the butler at the top of the
stairs. My friend spoke first:

"Say Mrs. Dash and--"

The butler did not wait for more--he was a youngish man--but shouted
out:

"Mr. and Mrs. Dash."

"My dear! how very quiet you have kept!" cried our hostess delighted.
"Do let me congratulate you."

The crush was too great and our hostess too distracted at the moment
for any explanations. We were swept away, and both of us spent the
remainder of the evening feebly protesting our singleness.