Both she and Mrs. Pratt entertained—if one may be permitted so euphemistic a word—with resolute frequency. Mrs. Pratt rarely received anyone less important than a Senator, now, and Mrs. Prendergast had recently dined a lady, honourable in her own right. The fact was chronicled in the Montreal papers and also in Saturday Night.
Both ladies saw the advantage of making their homes a rendezvous for the young, and using their children’s friends as a bridge, however precarious, to that happy land where Society dwelt. Moreover, both expressed the resentment of their class against one who, in their judgment, had been exalted above her station, and from that altitude demanded homage from people not only just as good but far better, i.e., themselves. There was no limit to the servility they would offer an unworthy aristocrat, but a deserving member of the bourgeoisie—never!
“How do you mean ‘experimenting’?” asked Mrs. Prendergast, referring to her friend’s remark.
“Well, it’s hard to explain,” said Mrs. Pratt, “in so many words, that is.” The implication here was somewhat veiled. How many words legitimately belonged to an explanation, Mrs. Pratt didn’t know. But Mrs. Prendergast was not embarrassingly curious, so she continued.
“When they first came, he was the disagreeable one, so superior and grumpy you couldn’t get a word out of him.”
“Yes,” assented the other. “I remember saying to the Dawkter that it must be very trying to be married to a mute.”
“On the other hand, she was just the opposite—apparently trying to cover up his grouchiness and bad manners. I don’t know whether you understand me, Mrs. Prendergast?”
“Oh, yes! Oh, certainly,” cried Mrs. Prendergast, emphatic in defence of her intelligence. “I understand exactly. Indeed, I remember saying to the Dawkter that I found her quite a pleasant little thing.”
“Well, she’s fur from pleasant, now! Heaven knows I try to see good in everybody, but rully, Mrs. Prendergast, I think I may be purdoned for saying that by the airs she puts on, you’d think she was a member of the Royal family! And now that he has been given such a prominent position in the Party—can you blame me for asking what is politics coming to?”
Mrs. Prendergast hastened to assure her that such a question was blameless. She was not vitally interested in politics nor the intrigues that grew out of Party differences, and it concerned her very little who occupied the positions of prominence. That they should appreciate her and those belonging to her was a matter of far greater importance.