Josiah Brown cut the top off his oeuf à la coque with a knife at his
premier déjeuner next day. The knife grated on the shell in a
determined way, and Theodora felt her heart sink at the prospect of
broaching the subject of the breakfast at the Café Henry.

"I am so glad the rain has stopped," she said, nervously. "It was
raining when I woke this morning."

"Indeed," replied Josiah. "And what kind of an evening did you pass with
that father of yours?"

"A very pleasant one," said Theodora, crumbling her roll. "Papa met some
old friends, and we all dined together at the Ritz. I wish you had been
able to come, it might have done you good, it was so gay!"

"I am not fit for gayety," said her husband, peevishly, scooping out
spoonfuls of yolk. "And who were the party, pray?"

Theodora obediently enumerated them all, and the high-sounding title of
the Russian Prince, to say nothing of the English lord and lady, had a
mollifying effect on Josiah Brown. He even remembered the name of
Bracondale--had he not been a grocer's assistant in the small town of
Bracondale for a whole year in his apprenticeship days?

"Papa wants us to breakfast to-day with him at Henry's for you to meet
some of them," Theodora said, with more confidence.