Oh, good heavens!

An icy chill of mortification crept down her spine, spread out
through her whole being. She had made a mistake--SHE, the hostess!

A whirlwind of mortal shame stormed round and round within her. If
only she could faint dead away in her chair! If only she could weep,
and summon mother! Or die! Or even if she could sink down under the
table and hide away from sight. But she didn't know how to faint;
and hostesses do not weep for their mothers; and, in real life,
people never die at the crucial moments; nor do they crawl under
tables. All she could do was to force herself. at last, to raise her
stricken eyelids and furtively regard her guests.

Oh, dear heaven!

They were all--ALL of them--eating their oyster cocktails with their
after-dinner coffee spoons!

Missy didn't know why, at that sight, she had to fight off a spasm
of laughter. She felt she must scream out in laughter, or die.

All at once she realized that Mr. Brown was speaking to her.

"What's the matter?" he was saying. "Want to sneeze?"

That struck her so funny that she laughed; and then she felt better.

"I was just terribly upset," she found herself explaining almost
naturally, "because I suddenly found myself eating the oyster