“You should have done.”
“Pardon me,” said Mrs. Gleeson, “but perhaps you will admit that my plan proved more successful.”
“Those two sisters, the dressmakers, are coming,” he went on, declining to argue the point, “and three other women accepted and promised to be with us providing nothing better turned up in the meantime. Singularly frank and open in their speech,” he remarked, with a sigh. “They went so far as to ask me what we expected to make out of it.”
“I like people to be genuine.”
“There are limits,” he said, “which should not be exceeded. Let us go in and reckon up the number of guests.”
The two small girls who had seen them kiss each other took up a position near the fence, watching with undisguised curiosity as Mr. and Mrs. Gleeson sat at the window completing arrangements. As these proceeded Mr. Gleeson regained something of his early enthusiasm. He intended to make a speech to the company, once the visitors were assembled, and his wife suggested that if his mind was made up in this regard, he had better rehearse; he walked up and down the room, using appropriate gestures, the while the two little spectators held on to the fence in their anxiety to miss nothing.
“Did you remember to telegraph to the Stores?” he demanded, breaking off.
“I did.”
“And have the things arrived?”
“Not yet. But they never fail.”