This was a gala night for Hampton. Such large social parties were always an event, and no one refused an invitation to Mrs. Hayden's, for it always meant beautiful rooms, carpets, pictures and bric-a-brac, superb refreshments, and a splendid time generally. Mrs. Hayden was a favorite with the world because she fed the world with sugar plums, and after smacking its lips it was always ready for more. And she usually had one to drop in. To-night it was a remarkably sweet one. This was a general affair, and every big body and big body's cousins and friends were there. To be sure they discussed their hostess as freely as though they were not big bodies, but with rare exceptions the discussion was complimentary in the extreme. Mrs. Hayden, what she said, what she did, what she wore, what she served as refreshments the last time, what were the probabilities next, her children, her husband, what they all did and said and how they acted, etc., were always interesting themes. Sometimes, to be sure, there were adverse remarks like Mrs. Dyke's, but few made them.
Yes, Mrs. Hayden was decidedly popular, and although no one was ever heard to tell of any particularly grand or noble deed she had done, she was supposed to be doing good all the time. There were those who, in earlier years, would have pointed her out as an enthusiastic philanthropist, eagerly helping whatever project needed her most, but gradually she had dropped it all, no one knew why, and now her principal work was to shine in society, at least this was the general verdict of the adverse few who judged from the superficial standpoint of the world. Of her inner life they knew nothing as the world knows nothing of any one's inner life. There may be depths or shallows in any character never dreamed of by the most intimate friend, much less by the babbling world.
Mrs. Hayden moved about among her guests with a stately grace. She had always a pleasant faculty of adjusting the broken links of conversation, supplying a repartee or asking a question, introducing strange gentlemen and reviving timid debutantes with a pretty compliment or a gracious smile.
"My dear, I wish you would play something," she whispered to Miss Turner as she passed her, "I think the group in the drawing room need a little change;" and no wonder, for there was Mrs. Dyke in a hot dispute with a Unitarian over Robert Elsmere, while her pastor sat near, occasionally adding something to Mrs. Dyke's emphatic remarks.
"It's a most blasphemous piece of presumption to present such a picture as that of the church. As if it were in its last stages of decay, indeed! It was well such a weak-minded idiot as Robert Elsmere died at the beginning of his career. I could never forgive the author if she hadn't killed him," she was saying in an angry voice.
"We can take it simply as a symbol of the decay of his religion, and that is comforting," added the minister, complacently.
"I am not at all in sympathy with the holy Catherine, with her prejudice and bigotry. If it wasn't such a true picture of the many Catherines we find in real life, I should be quite disgusted, but I do love to see real people in novels, then I know so much better how to deal with them," said a pretty young lady who aspired to be called intellectual because she liked to study character.
"Indeed, Catherine had a deep religious nature, which might be worthy of emulation in many respects, and she is certainly a high ideal of wifely love," Mrs. Hayden interposed at this critical juncture.
"Well, I didn't read the book for Catherine, but for the sake of knowing Robert and what he did to make such a stir in the world. I'm opposed to novels, as a rule, and read as little of one as I can," said Mrs. Dyke, smoothing her lap and looking at the minister. Mrs. Hayden motioned to Kate to play, and presently the rooms were filled with harmony.
Kate Turner was a natural musician, and to-night she fairly excelled herself. The little passage at arms just recorded had inspired her with emotions that could only be expressed in music, and she played some time to the continued delight of her listeners. She finished at last with a song that stirred every heart, and even Mrs. Dyke was visibly softened. "Verily 'music hath charms to soothe a savage breast,'" murmured the intellectual young lady, who was sorry that discussion of Robert Elsmere had been interrupted. She rather enjoyed Mrs. Dyke, for she was an immensely interesting "character."