"Oh, Maude, you can't think what a relief this is!"
"But——" began Mrs. Penfield and paused, while Clara, folding the note, tore it deliberately in twain.
"I don't believe he has been seriously hurt at all," she said on second thought. "He simply did not want to come. Fancy a man who invents such an excuse!"
"But——" began Mrs. Penfield once more, when Mrs. Fessenden interposed.
"I shall hope never to hear his wretched name again," she said. "Maude, dear, you won't forget to-morrow night?"
"Not unless Butler forgets me," said Mrs. Penfield, whereat both ladies laughed the laugh that rounds a pleasant visit.
"Jack," whispered Clara, "please count and see if everyone is here; there should be twenty."
It was Wednesday evening, and the Fessenden's Colonial drawing-room housed an assembly to make the snowy breast of any hostess glow with satisfaction, especially a hostess possessing one inch less of waist and one inch more of husband than any lady present.
"Exactly twenty," Jack announced; "that is, if we count the Envoy and the Countess each as only one, which don't seem quite respectful."
"Please don't try to be silly," said his wife, suspecting stimulant unjustly.