For two whole days Jackson waited in his office for Skinner to appear—waited in vain. He dreaded going home to dinner, dreaded formula number two. Each night he half determined to 'phone some excuse and dine at the club, but put the suggestion aside as petty, shirking. However, nothing was said at dinner by the good Mrs. Curmudgeon, and Jackson began to feel that the incident was closed.
If only the departure, the sudden departure, of Skinner would be as conspicuously recorded as his advent had been, what a relief it would be. Nothing further appeared in the papers about Skinner, however, and Jackson was flattering himself that that gentleman had folded his tent like the Arab. A great calm prevailed in the heart of Jackson. But this proved to be only a weather-breeder.
Sunday morning when Jackson entered the breakfast room, he found his wife in tears. "Look," she cried, holding up the paper and pointing to the great headline.
"What's the matter? Some accident? Somebody dead?"
"I should say not! Somebody's very much alive! We're the dead ones!"
Jackson took the paper from her hand and read: "Important Social Event. The West dines the East. Mr. and Mrs. J. Matthews Wilkinson entertain at a quiet, select dinner Mr. and Mrs. William Manning Skinner, of New York. The dinner guests were Mr. and Mrs. Philip Armitage, Mr. and Mrs. Almeric Baird, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Wendell—"
Jackson put the paper down. Somehow he felt guilty. He avoided his wife's reproachful eyes. But he did n't dare cover up his ears, and the ear is not always so successful at avoiding as the eye. The eye can see only straight ahead, but the ear can hear from all around.
"Think of it," sniffled Mrs. Jackson, her sniffle developing into a blubber as she went on. "I'm not a snob, but why can't I go with those people? We've got lots of money! I want to see the best kind of life, but I've never had the chance, and now these Skinners come here, are taken up,—wined and dined,—and we're left out in the cold!"
