“Young radical clergyman, and his wife, without a congregation, and hoping for a pulpit in Billerica. Parlor lectures on German literature in the mean time. Well?”
“And Mrs. Savage, I thought.”
“Well-preserved young widow of uncertain antecedents tending to grassiness; out-door protégée of the hostess. Yes, Clara, go on and give your party. It will be perfectly safe! But do you think it will deceive anybody?”
“Now, Olive Halleck!” cried Clara, “I am not going to have you talking to me in that way! You have no right to do it, and you have no business to do it,” she added, trying to pluck up a spirit. “Is there anybody that I value more than I do you and your sisters, and Ben?”
“No. But you don't value us just in that way, and you know it. Don't you be a humbug, Clara. Now go on with your excuses.”
“I'm not making excuses! Isn't Mr. Atherton in the most fashionable society?”
“Yes. Why don't you ask some other fashionable people?”
“Olive, this is all nonsense,—perfect nonsense! I can invite any one I like to meet any one I like, and if I choose to show Mr. Hubbard's wife a little attention, I can do it, can't I?”
“Oh, of course!”
“And what would be the use of inviting fashionable people—as you call them—to meet them? It would just embarrass them, all round.”