“Mr. Peck was here,” said Annie reluctantly, “and I tried it on him.”
“Yes?” repeated Mrs. Munger, as immutably as if she were sitting for her photograph and keeping the expression.
Annie broke from her reluctance with a sort of violence which carried her further than she would have gone otherwise. She ridiculed Mr. Peck's appearance and manner, and laughed at his ideas to Mrs. Munger. She had not a good conscience in it, but the perverse impulse persisted in her. There seemed no other way in which she could assert herself against him.
Mrs. Munger listened judicially, but she seemed to take in only what Mr. Peck had thought of the dance and supper; at the end she said, rather vacantly, “What nonsense!”
“Yes; but I'm afraid he thinks it's wisdom, and for all practical purposes it amounts to that. You see what my 'influence' has done at the outset, Mrs. Munger. He'll never give way on such a point.”
“Oh, very well, then,” said Mrs. Munger, with the utmost lightness and indifference, “we'll drop the idea of the invited supper and dance.”
“Do you think that would be well?” asked Annie.
“Yes; why not? It's only an idea. I don't think you've made at all a bad beginning. It was very well to try the idea on some one who would be frank about it, and wouldn't go away and talk against it,” said Mrs. Munger, rising. “I want you to come with me, my dear.”
“To see Mr. Peck? Excuse me. I don't think I could,” said Annie.
“No; to see some of his parishioners,” said Mrs. Munger. “His deacons, to begin with, or his deacons' wives.”