the hour of three
To-night I am unhappy . Perhaps that is an exaggeration , and perplexed is the better word , and it is only in pages of my social experience book that the cause can be given . Friday was Peysey Vanderveer 's eighth birthday , and it has been celebrated by a party on a scale of magnificence that to my mind would have been suitable for the only son of royalty . Though the invitations fortunately were only given two days in advance , Richard and Ian were agog over the matter to the extent of muttering in their sleep , and getting up this morning before eight , in order , if possible , to make the hour of three come quicker , and to be sure to be ready in time . When the invitation was brought by Mr. Vanderveer in person , he asked if Lavinia Dorman and I would not like to come up also and see the children play , adding that I need feel no responsibility about the boys , as he was going to be at home and give himself up to seeing that the `` kids '' had a jolly time , and got into no scrapes . We agreed that it would be amusing to go up with the children , stay a little while to be sure that they could adapt themselves , and then leave ; for if there is anything dampening to the ardour of children at play it is a group of elders with minds divided between admiration and correction , punctuating unwise remarks upon beauty and cleverness with `` Maud , you are overheated . '' `` Tommy , do n't !