It was a real winter night, with a snowstorm and the jangle of
sleigh-bells outside. The possibilities of a hall famed for its many
brilliant entertainments had never been more fully realized than on
this night of Marian Bassett's presentation. The stage was screened in a
rose-hung lattice that had denuded the conservatories of Newcastle and
Richmond; the fireplace was a bank of roses, and the walls were
festooned in evergreens. Nor should we overlook a profile of the father
of his country in white carnations on a green background, with all the
effect of a marble bas-relief,--a fitting embellishment for the
balcony,--done by the florist from Allen's design and under Allen's
critical eye.
In the receiving line, established in one of the lower parlors, were
Mrs. Owen, Mr. and Mrs. Morton Bassett, the Governor and his wife (he
happened just then to be a Republican), Colonel and Mrs. Vinning
(retired army people), and the pick of the last October's brides and
their young husbands. We may only glance hurriedly at the throng who
shook Mrs. Owen's hand, and were presented to Mr. and Mrs. Bassett and
by them in turn to their daughter. Every one remarked how stunning the
hostess looked (her gown was white, and in the latest fashion,
too,--none of your quaint old lace and lavender for Aunt Sally!), and
what amusing things she said to her guests as they filed by, knowing
them all and in her great good heart loving them all! It is something to
be an Aunt Sally where the name is a synonym for perpetual youth and
perpetual kindness and helpfulness.
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