Poor
Blakely! He didn't know at all how to make a speech. Thought I must
say I was rather glad of it; the most tiresome thing about Americans
is their eternal speechmaking, I think.
Blakely having faltered his few words of thanks, some one proposed
the duke's health; but that had to wait till new glasses were
brought in and filled. Altogether, then, instead of being a solemn,
dignified affair, such as one might have expected, it was a
tremendously jolly dinner--a little rowdy, perhaps, but delightfully
friendly. If I had entered the dining room as Old Tom Middleton's
daughter, "who actually used to live over a livery stable, my dear,"
it was not so I left it; for the nimbus of the sacred name of Porter
had already begun to shed its beautiful light on my many graces and
social accomplishments. Indeed, when I retired with my hostess to
the drawing room, it was to hold a sort of reception; Mrs. Tudor
Carstairs vied with Mrs. Sanderson-Spear in assurances of regard,
"Choicest Flowers" expressed approval, the German baroness, bless
her, conferred the distinction of a motherly kiss. And Blakely's
mother was so gracious, so kind and considerate, it was hard to
believe we had faced each other, five hours before, with something
very like hatred in our eyes.
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