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THE PATHOS OF FAITH
“To him who is shod the whole world is covered with leather.”
The next afternoon I was resting and thinking over the brilliancy of the Payson Osborne entertainment, when Sallie came in, dressed from head to foot in black. There was not a suspicion of white at wrist or throat. I was too startled to ask a question until her burst of laughter relieved me.
“You poor thing!” she cried, “did I frighten you? But I am in mourning; yes, truly, for my dinner-party. Ruth, Ruth, what was the matter with it?”
“Why, nothing. It was exquisitely served, and oh, Sallie, your lawn fête and the cotillon were beautiful. They were perfect. Truly, you do give the most successful entertainments in town.”
“Certainly—why shouldn’t I,” said Sallie sharply, “when I have never done anything, anything all my life but go to parties and study how to give them? Oh, Ruth, dear, I do get so tired of it all. But,” taking on a brisker tone, “all the more reason why I should never give such a sad affair as that dinner. That dinner, Ruth, was what Brian Beck calls a howling failure. Payson never criticises anything that I do, but even he came to me quite gingerly this morning, after I had read what the papers had to say about it, and said, ‘My dear child, what was the matter with your tea-party?’ Now, let us admit the success of the other two, and weep a little in a friendly way over the ‘tea-party.’”
“I had a lovely time—” I began, but Sallie interrupted me.
“Hypocrite!” she cried vehemently. “You know you didn’t. Your eyes were as big as turkey platters with apprehension.”
“My dear Sallie,” I expostulated.