"Not what I meant: but no matter. We were not expecting you; and I fear the
waiters have made a sad mistake."

"As bad an one as I did, perhaps, in declining to be catechized at my
brother's door."

"No, _you_ were right enough; but the waiters, being only here for the
extra occasion,--the bit of flare-up you see we have here to-night,--and
not knowing you, thought they must do as others do at such times. So
overlook the blunder, if you will, and walk in."

Mark Elwood, much chagrined and discomposed at the discovery of such an
untoward first reception of his brother, now ushered him into the
brilliantly-lighted hall, where the two stood in such singular contrast
that no stranger would have ever taken them for brothers,--Mark being, as
we have before described him, a good-sized, and, in the main, a
good-looking man; while the other, whom we have introduced as Arthur
Elwood, was of a diminutive size, with commonplace features, and a severe,
forbidding countenance, made so, perhaps, by intense application to
business, together with the unfavorable effect caused by a blemished and
sightless eye.

"Well, brother," said Mark, after a hesitating and awkward pause, "shall I
look you up a private room, or will you go in among the company,--that is,
if you consider yourself in trim to join them?"

"Your rooms must all be in use, and I should make less trouble to go in and
be lost in the crowd. My trim will not kill anybody, probably," was the dry
reply to the indirect hint of the other.