"We shall prove," Mrs. Tweedie went on with her eyes fixed dreamily on a distant corner of the kitchen, "we shall prove that the accusation which you made in anger one week ago to-night, that 'women are the cause of all of the trouble in the world,' is false! False as the affection of men!"
Ezra's smile faded to a look that suggested a complication of homesickness and mal de mer. The incident to which Mrs. Tweedie referred was not their first quarrel. The first had taken place years before, and ever since Ezra had been different.
"My dear," he replied, weakly, attempting not to let his feelings show in his voice, "you always accomplish whatever you attempt."
"And why, Ezra, why do I succeed?" (Mrs. Tweedie was given to boasting when alone with her little, ladylike husband.) "Because," she continued, replying to her own question, "I possess and use that rare virtue called tact."
"True, my dear, very true," Ezra acknowledged, meekly. "I have known always that you had enough for two." He might have added truthfully that, had it not been for her remarkable tact, and the fact that one of her relatives had indiscreetly died intestate during their courtship, he would not have married her.
The income which "dear cousin John's" carelessness and the statutes gave them was small; only Mrs. Tweedie's tact made it possible for her family of four to exist in the sham style which they affected. Despite her tact, their credit was constantly stretched and perilously near to the C.O.D. point; in fact, the feelings of all the tradesmen of Manville were correctly described when the milkman vowed that the Tweedies would be supplied from the bottom of the can until they had settled for the top. Considered from every point of view the Tweedies were strange people.
The idea of a club for women was not new to the world, but to the New England town of Manville it was as new as the newest baby. The germ had taken up its abode in Mrs. Tweedie's head a week before, and since its arrival had buzzed so furiously that she was conscious of nothing else.
Two hours after her conversation with Ezra, Mrs. Tweedie was ready to meet the ladies whom she had invited to take part in the materialization of her idea. When the door-bell rang announcing the first arrival, she hastened to the parlour and assumed a becoming attitude, while Ezra, who impersonated Dora, their maid, when she was otherwise occupied, went to the door.
"Mrs. Flint, my dear," Ezra announced a moment later, as he bowed the lady named into the parlour, and then vanished. Mrs. Tweedie was very fond of Mrs. Flint, her beloved pastor's wife, and greeted her with as much cordiality as it was possible for her to display. The chief reason for her fondness was the fact that Mrs. Flint belonged to one of the oldest families in the State. Her blood was as blue as the bluest blue, and her ancestry could be traced back into a delightful abyss of years. Mrs. Tweedie had a profound respect for such things—she had ancestors herself.
"Tell me," said Mrs. Flint, after they had chatted about little nothings for five minutes, "how have you succeeded? Was your club idea well received?"