“Oh,” responded the mother, “I have no sympathy for Mr. Farrar. He deserves to have a social ban placed on him. He’s making himself so perfectly ridiculous and—and obnoxious; yes, really obnoxious. I don’t see what he can possibly be thinking about. I’m going to tell him so if he comes, and I’m going to do it openly and aboveboard. But as for his dear little wife, she must be protected against the consequences of his folly so far as we are able to protect her. Don’t you think so?”
“I don’t think it’s folly on his part, mother; I think it’s bravery. But, whatever it is, she should not suffer. Whom shall we invite to meet them?”
“That’s what worries me. So many of the best people have taken umbrage at what Mr. Farrar’s been preaching that really I don’t know to whom he would be acceptable.”
“Why not risk Mr. and Mrs. Claybank? or Colonel Boston and his wife?”
“Oh, dear me! Colonel Boston and Mr. Claybank can’t endure the man. Jane Chichester said that both of them got fairly wild at the vestry meeting when he insisted on his free pew nonsense.”
“Well, if you want some one who agrees with him, there are Mr. and Mrs. Hazzard, and Mr. Emberly and his sister.”
“Ruth! What are you thinking of? Such ordinary people! Neither of those women is on my calling list, and I haven’t even a speaking acquaintance with the men. I haven’t swallowed Mr. Farrar’s ideas of social equality yet; besides, this dinner is not on his account; it’s on Mrs. Farrar’s. I feel so sorry for her. Jane Chichester says she suffers terribly from what people say about her husband. Jane went to see her, you know, and tried to comfort her.”
“I think I’d rather have one of Job’s comforters than to have Jane if I were in distress.”
“I know she’s a dreadful gossip. But she means well; and she does an immense amount of church work. I think I’ll invite Jane. She ought to be perfectly acceptable to both Mr. and Mrs. Farrar. And the Chichesters are one of the oldest and best families in the city.”
“Very well, mother. I’m satisfied. Who else?”