Some days afterwards, happening to be in the parlour with her after breakfast, she said, "And when's your grand party, as you call it, coming off, Mr Batchelor ?" I started up in rapture at the question.
"Then you _will_ help me, Mrs Nash ?" I cried, running up to her, and taking it all for granted.
She first looked amazed, then angry, and finally she smiled.
"I never said so.

You're a sight too independent for my taste, you are.
_I_ ain't a-goin' to put my fingers into where I ain't wanted." "But you _are_ wanted, and you will be a brick, I know!" cried I, almost hugging her in my eagerness.
The battle was won, and that morning I went down to the office positively jubilant.

My party was fixed for Thursday! I felt particularly important when the time came for inviting Doubleday and Crow to the festive assembly.

I had rehearsed as I walked along the very words and tones I would use.

On no account must they suppose the giving of a party was the momentous event it really proved itself.
"By the way, Doubleday," said I, in as off-hand a manner as I could assume, after some preliminary talk on different matters--"by the way, could you come up to supper on Thursday?
Just the usual lot, you know." I could have kicked myself for the way I blushed and stammered as I was delivering this short oration.
Doubleday gazed at me half curiously, half perplexed.
"Eh--supper?
Oh, rather! Where's it to be?
Mansion House or Guildhall ?" I didn't like this.