A LETTER FROM MISS CAROLINE PETTITOES TO MRS. SETTUM DOWNE.
MY DEAR MRS. DOWNE,--Here we are at last! I can hardly believe it. Our coming was so sudden that it seems like a delightful dream. You know at Mrs. Potiphar's supper last August in Newport, she was piqued by Gauche Boosey's saying, in his smiling, sarcastic way:
"What! do you really think this is a pretty supper? Dear me! Mrs. Potiphar, you ought to see one of our _petits soupers_ in Paris, hey Croesus?" and then he and Mr. Timon Croesus lifted their brows knowingly, and smiled, and glanced compassionately around the table.
"Paris, Paris!" cried Mrs. Potiphar; "you young men are always talking about Paris, as if it were heaven. Oh! Mr. P., do take me to Paris. Let's make up a party, and slip over. It's so easy now, you know. Come, come, Pot. I know you won't deny me. Just for two or three months, The truth is," said she, turning to D'Orsay Firkin, who wore that evening the loveliest shirt-bosom I ever saw, "I want to send home some patterns of new dresses to Minerva Tattle."
They all laughed, and in the midst Kurz Pacha, who was sitting at the side of Mrs. Potiphar, inquired:
"What colors suit the Indian summer best, Mrs. Potiphar?"
"Well, a kind of misty color," said Boosey, laughingly, and emphasizing _missed_, as if he meant some pun upon the word.
"Which conceals the outline of the landscape," interrupted Mrs. Gnu.
"Cajoling you with a sense of warmth on the very edge of winter, eh?" asked the Sennaar minister.
"I thought Minerva Tattle was a friend of yours, Kurz Pacha," said Mrs. Gnu, smiling mischievously, and playing with her beautiful bouquet, which Mrs. Potiphar told me Timon Croesus had sent her.
"Certainly, so she is," replied he. "Miss Minerva and I understand each other perfectly. I like her society immensely. The truth is, I am always better in autumn; the air is both cool and bright."
As he said this he looked fixedly at Mrs. Gnu, and there was not quite so much laughing. I am sure I don't know what they meant by talking about autumn. I was busy talking with Mr. Firkin about Daisy Clover's pretty morning dress at the Bowling Alley, and admiring his shirt-bosom. Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and an exquisite bouquet was handed in for Kurz Pacha.