“My dear Pontifex, you have already offered a strawberry festival which Mrs. Rossmore has been unable to accept.”
“Well, what of it?” demanded Mr. Deetle, glaring at his sister for the irrelevant interruption.
“You are both most kind,” murmured Mrs. Rossmore; “but we could not accept in any case. My daughter is returning home from Paris next week.”
“Ah, your daughter—you have a daughter?” exclaimed Mr. Deetle, grasping at the slightest straw to add to his stock of information. “Coming from Paris, too! Such a wicked city!”
He had never been to Paris, he went on to explain, but he had read enough about it and he was grateful that the Lord had chosen Massapequa as the field of his labours. Here at least, life was sweet and wholesome and one's hopes of future salvation fairly reasonable. He was not a brilliant talker when the conversation extended beyond Massapequa but he rambled on airing his views on the viciousness of the foreigner in general, until Mrs. Rossmore, utterly wearied, began to wonder when they would go. Finally he fell back upon the weather.
“We are very fortunate in having such pleasant weather, don't you think so, Madam? Oh, Massapequa is a lovely spot, isn't it? We think it's the one place to live in. We are all one happy family. That's why my sister and I called to make your acquaintance.”
“You are very good, I'm sure. I shall tell my husband you came and he'll be very pleased.”
Having exhausted his conversational powers and seeing that further efforts to pump Mrs. Rossmore were useless, the clerical visitor rose to depart:
“It looks like rain. Come, Jane, we had better go. Good-bye, Madam, I am delighted to have made this little visit and I trust you will assure Mr. Rossmore that All Souls Unified Baptismal Presbytery always has a warm welcome for him.”
They bowed and Mrs. Rossmore bowed. The agony was over and as the door closed on them Mrs. Rossmore gave a sigh of relief.