like Rose--surround her with circumstances that enable her to forget
what she ought not to forget for one moment. I--will--not--do--it!"

This disappointment did not, however, deter Mrs. Filmer from carrying
out her plan; and invitations were duly sent to such of Rose's old
friends as it was supposed would give prestige and dignity to the
occasion of her first dinner. Miss Alida sent a curt refusal; and all
of the people whose presence was most desired did likewise, with
varying politeness. Some "regretted very much," and others simply
"regretted." Some had "previous engagements," others did not lay this
flattering excuse to the wound of their declining; but the fine
dinner was, after all, prepared for guests who had been asked as
"secondaries," and whose absence would not have been regretted. In
some way--probably through the kitchen door--the true story of
Antony's absence had been blown about by every wind of gossip; and
Rose's dinners, however she might regard them, were not important
affairs to a class of people to whom dinners meant lofty and
irreproachable social intercourse.

Mrs. Filmer was greatly humiliated by this failure, but not inclined
to abandon her plan; and Rose pretended to be well pleased that she
had been "cut by such a dreary crowd of purple and fine linen
Pharisees. However," she said, "as I have opened my house, I intend to
fill it. Young men and young women who want to dance will go anywhere,
if there is a good floor, with good music and plenty of wines and
ices. If I cannot be exclusive, I can at least be popular. If you do
not like my company, mamma, you need not endorse it. I shall take no
offence at your scruples. As for Harry and his excellent wife, I never
will pretend to be glad to see them any more as long as I live. When
society declines to accept Mrs. Antony Van Hoosen, you cannot make it
accept her, mamma."

"I am sure, Rose, there are plenty of people in the best society who
have been talked about in far worse fashion than you have."

"That is true enough; but society, now and then, gets very moral and
thinks it necessary to have a scapegoat whom it can punish for all the
rest. At present it is laying its sins on my head, and driving me out
to the wilderness; though it has plenty inside its high fence just as
bad as I am, mamma." Then she was suddenly quiet, as if remembering.
"Mamma, when I was in London I saw a picture of myself." Mrs. Filmer
looked at her curiously and inqu