VIPauline Manford sent a satisfied glance down the table.
It was on such occasions that she visibly reaped her reward. No one else in New York had so accomplished a cook, such smoothly running service, a dinner-table so softly yet brightly lit, or such skill in grouping about it persons not only eminent in wealth or fashion, but likely to find pleasure in each other’s society.
The intimate reunion, of the not-more-than-the-Muses kind, was not Pauline’s affair. She was aware of this, and seldom made the attempt—though, when she did, she was never able to discover why it was not a success. But in the organizing and administering of a big dinner she was conscious of mastery. Not the stupid big dinner of old days, when the “crowned heads” used to be treated like a caste apart, and everlastin
