“Well, you would, anyhow,” said Mrs. Burr, consolingly.
“I shall not marry until I find the right man,” said Augusta firmly, “not if I die an old maid. But father would be a splendid convert, and his name would carry great weight.”
“You mean for Socialism,” replied her hostess. “No man does his political duty more religiously than Mr. Forbes. But let us send Socialism to—ahem—and just work at the other thing. I am dying to see how Latimer will take it.”
“Never!” exclaimed Augusta, and was echoed loyally. “We must not lose sight of that. I don’t at all agree with Dr. Broadhead on that point. I have fully made up my mind to bring papa round.”
“But you are at a disadvantage, darling,” said Mrs. Burr, drily; “your beautiful mamma thinks we are all a pack of idiots, and your father has a great respect for her opinion, to say nothing of being more or less épris.”
“I shall convert her too,” said Augusta sturdily.
Mrs. Burr laughed outright. “I can just see Mrs. Forbes posing as a prophet of Socialism. Well, let us eat. Alexis, you must be limp all the way down, and your thinker must be fairly staggering. I will pour you a stiff cup of tea and put some rum in it.”
Augusta rose. “I must go, Hal,” she said. “I have a speech to make myself in the slums, you know. Aren’t you coming?”
“I? God forbid! But do take something before you go. It may save you from stage-fright.”
“I haven’t a minute. I must be there in twenty. Who is coming with me?”