He was still staring. "Well, who would you suggest having in with Mr. and Mrs. Con McFaddan?"
"Oh, the Cricklewicks, and the Blodgetts,—and old Mrs. Millidew,—I've been intending to have her anyway,—and perhaps the Van Ostrons and Cicely Braithmere, and I am sure we could get dear old Percy Tromboy. He would be frightfully amused by the McFinnegans, and—"
"McFaddan," he edged in.
"—and he could get a world of material for those screaming Irish imitations he loves to give. Now, when will you see Mr. McFaddan?"
"You'd have to call on his wife, wouldn't you, before asking her to dinner?"
"She probably never has heard of the custom," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis composedly.
The next day, Mr. Smith-Parvis strolled into the offices of Mr. Cornelius McFaddan, Contractor, and casually remarked what a wonderful view of the Bay he had from his windows.
"I dropped in, Mr. McFaddan," he explained, "to see if you were really in earnest about wanting to join the Oxford Country Club." He had decided that it was best to go straight to the point.
McFaddan regarded him narrowly. "Did I ever say I wanted to join the Oxford Country Club?" he demanded.
"Didn't you?" asked his visitor, slightly disturbed by this ungracious response.