Clementina stiffened. The blood seemed to flow from her heart, leaving it an intolerable icicle. “Why Mrs. Fontaine?”
“Why not?”
“Why should Mrs. Fontaine be asked to Etta’s party?”
“She’s a charming woman,” said Quixtus.
“Just a shallow society hack,” said Clementina, to whom Quixtus had not confided his adventures in the gay world, not through conscious disingenuousness, but assuming that such chronicles would not interest her.
“I’m afraid you do her an injustice,” he said, warmly. “Mrs. Fontaine has very brilliant social gifts. I’m sorry, my dear Clementina, that we disagree on the point; but anyhow she must be invited. As a matter of fact, it was she who suggested the party.”
Clementina opened her lips to speak, and then closed them with a snap. Mother Eve sat at her elbow and murmured words of good counsel. Not by abuse is an infatuated and quixotic man weaned from seductresses. She swallowed her anger and fierce jealousy.
“In that case, my dear Ephraim,” she said, with mincing civility, “there is no question about it. Of course she must be invited.”
“Of course,” said he.
“Who else are to come?”