“The third of next month,” Emeline and Gladys cried together.
“And we want you to come, Mrs. Briggs,” said Carrie Cora, recovering from her embarrassment.
“It’s going to be a church affair,” said Mrs. Burrell, severely, smoothing the front of her dress. This was one of the moments when Mrs. Burrell betrayed that the possession of plenty of money was still novel to her.
“Oh, do come, Mrs. Briggs,” Gladys pleaded.
“Yes, please,” Emeline echoed.
Helen hesitated. “I don’t know whether I can.”
“Oh, promise. Please promise,” Carrie Cora insisted.
“If I can, I will,” Helen replied, feeling ashamed. She knew that her husband would not entertain the notion for an instant.
“And, of course, you’ll stay at our house,” Mrs. Burrell went on. “We’ve had a wing built on this Winter. It’s just like that wing on yours in Washington.”
“And the furniture’s just like yours, too,” said Carrie Cora. “We got it in Portland. They say it’s real antique. Lots of it has come from old houses in Portland and from all kinds of queer places in the country.”