"You think what? You can't, it's a men's party. Oh, you—'Y, no, it's not mean. I don't mind it a bit. I like to go alone—that is, I don't mind it, and I won't hear to your putting yourself out on my account. And then you know, Mrs. Tad-Wallington wears her dresses so disgustingly low."
"That's it, Tom. That's why I think I ought to go."
"Oh, pshaw. You know I despise her. I never dance with her. No, I can't think of letting you go on my account. And I don't want my wife even to be seen at the party of a woman who wears such dresses as she does. No! positively, I can't permit it."
"Well, it's as bad for you to go."
"But one of us has to go to be decent. It would be rude not to, and we can not afford to be rude even to the commonest people."
"I don't want you to go unless I go with you," she said pettishly.
"But I never dance with her."
"It is not that so much. I do not want us to recognize her at all."
"I am not going to even speak to her. I will snub her. I will walk by her and not see her. I will let her know that my little wife doesn't belong to her class. I'll show her."
"But, Tom, wouldn't that be ruder than not going at all?"