“The children were as well as usual. I told Emma to put them to bed. Do you think the orchids in the dining-room are the right shade, Wilbur?”
“I am quite sure. I am glad that you told Emma to put them to bed.”
“I always do. Mrs. George B. Slade is most unpleasantly puffed up.”
“Why?”
“Oh, because she got Mrs. Sarah Joy Snyder to speak to the club.”
“Did she do her stunt well?”
“Well enough. Mrs. Slade was so pleased, it was really offensive.”
Wilbur Edes had an inspiration. “The Fay-Wymans,” said he (the Fay-Wymans were the principal guests of their dinner party), “know a lot of theatrical people. I will see if I can't get them to induce somebody, say Lydia Greenway, to run out some day; I suppose it would have to be later on, just after the season, and do a stunt at the club.”
“Oh, that would be simply charming,” cried Margaret, “and I would rather have it in the spring, because everything looks so much prettier. But don't you think it will be impossible, Wilbur?”
“Not with money as an inducement.” Wilbur had the pleasant consciousness of an unusually large fee which was sure to be his own before that future club meeting, and he could see no better employment for it than to enable his adored wife to outshine Mrs. George B. Slade. When in New York engaged in his profession, Wilbur Edes was entirely free from the vortex of Fairbridge, but his wife, with its terrible eddies still agitating her garments, could suck him therein, even in the great city. He was very susceptible to her influence.