This being
debarred, a stiff, unnatural atmosphere descended upon them. William
was a "host," they were "guests"; they had all listened to final
maternal admonitions in which the word "manners" and "politeness"
recurred at frequent intervals. They were, in fact, for the time
being, complete strangers.
Then Joan arrived and broke the constrained silence.
"Hullo, William! Oh, William, you do look _nice_!"
William smiled with distant politeness, but his heart warmed to her.
It is always some comfort to learn that one has not suffered in vain.
"How d'you do?" he said with a stiff bow.
Then Johnnie Brent came and after him a host of small boys and girls.
William greeted friends and foes alike with the same icy courtesy.
Then the conjurer arrived.
Mrs. Brown had planned the arrangement most carefully. The supper was
laid on the big dining room table. There was to be conjuring for an
hour before supper to "break the ice." In the meantime, while the
conjuring was going on, the grown-ups who were officiating at the
party were to have their meal in peace in the library.
William had met the conjurer at various parties and despised him
utterly. He despised his futile jokes and high-pitched laugh and he
knew his tricks by heart. They sat in rows in front of him--shining-faced,
well-brushed little boys in dark Eton suits and gleaming collars, and
dainty white-dressed little girls with gay hair ribbons.
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