John looked relieved; but after a minute broke out again:—
“I say, Gracie, Lillie has gone and invited the Simpkinses and the Follingsbees here this fall. Just think of it!”
“Well, I suppose you expect your wife to have the right of inviting her company,” said Grace.
“But, you know, Gracie, they are not at all our sort of folks,” said John. “None of our set would ever think of visiting them, and it’ll seem so odd to see them here. Follingsbee is a vulgar sharper, who has made his money out of our country by dishonest contracts during the war. I don’t know much about his wife. Lillie says she is her intimate friend.”
“Oh, well, John! we must get over it in the quietest way possible. It wouldn’t be handsome not to make the agreeable to your wife’s company; and if you don’t like the quality of it, why, you are a good deal nearer to her than any one else can be,—you can gradually detach her from them.”
“Then you think I ought to put a good face on their coming?” said John, with a sigh of relief.
“Oh, certainly! of course. What else can you do? It’s one of the things to be expected with a young wife.”
“And do you think the Wilcoxes and the Fergusons and the rest of our set will be civil?”
“Why, of course they will,” said Grace. “Rose and Letitia will, certainly; and the others will follow suit. After all, John, perhaps we old families, as we call ourselves, are a little bit pharisaical and self-righteous, and too apt to thank God that we are not as other men are. It’ll do us good to be obliged to come a little out of our crinkles.”
“It isn’t any old family feeling about Follingsbee,” said John. “But I feel that that man deserves to be in State’s prison much more than many a poor dog that is there now.”