have a proposition to present to you
which proves it. She is willing to come to us on New Year's Day, and
receive with you--to bring all her acquaintances into your house, and
make them yours and mine."

"Is it possible?"

"Yes; and I think we should be most ungrateful and discourteous to her,
as well as impolitic with relation to ourselves and to our social
future, not to accept the proposition."

"I don't think I care to be under obligations to Mrs. Dillingham for
society, or care for the society she will bring us. I am not pleased
with a proposition of this kind that comes through my husband. If she
were my friend it would be a different matter, but she is not. If I were
to feel myself moved to invite some lady to come here and receive with
me, it would be well enough; but this proposition is a stroke of
patronage as far as I am concerned, and I don't like it. It is like Mrs.
Dillingham and all of her kind. Whatever may have been her motives, it
was an indelicate thing to do, and she ought to be ashamed of herself
for doing it"

Mr. Belcher knew in his heart that his wife was right. He knew that
every word she had spoken was the truth. He knew that he should never
call on Mrs. Dillingham with his wife, save as a matter of policy; but
this did not modify his determination to have his own way.

"You place me in a very awkward position, my dear," said he, determined,
as long as possible, to maintain an amiable mood.

"And she has placed me in one which you are helping to fasten upon me,
and not at all helping to relieve me from."

"I don't see how I can, my dear. I am compelled to go back to her with
some answer; and, as I am determined to have my house open, I must say
whether you accept or decline her courtesy; for courtesy it is, and not
patronage at all."

Mrs. Belcher felt the chain tightening, and knew that she was to be
bound, whether willing or unwilling. The consciousness of her impotence
did not act kindly upon her temper, and she burst out:

"I do not want her here. I wish she would have done with her officious
helpfulness. Why can't she mind her own business, and let me alone?"

Mr. Belcher's temper rose to the occasion; for, although he saw in Mrs.
Belcher's petulance and indignation that his victory was half won, he
could not quite submit to the abuse of his brilliant pet.

"I have some rights in this house myself, my dear, and I fancy that my
wishes are deserving of respect, at least."

"Ve