“I should hope not! But is that any reason why you shouldn’t make friends with them?”
“I don’t want to have friends that I don’t like.”
Mrs. Pratt was struck speechless by such philosophy. It had never occurred to her that anyone could hold views at variance with her own, least of all, her daughter. She found herself at a loss for an argument, a retort, indeed. The girl might just as well have said she didn’t like having two hands.
“But everybody has!” exclaimed Mrs. Pratt. “There’s no getting around it! Look at your father . . . look at me!”
Maude looked.
“You don’t suppose I went to that Dilling imbecile’s tea because I liked her—or any of the people there, for the matter of that—do you?”
“Then why did you go?” asked Maude, sullenly.
“Why—why—how absurd you are! I went, and you will have to go because other people do—because it’s the way of Society, because, whether you like it or not, it’s THE THING!”
They found Mr. Rufus Sullivan enjoying the fruits of the cellar when they reached home.
“Blame Gus, not me!” he cried. “Heaven knows I’ve tried to take myself off half a dozen times. Is this your girl?”