"A very informal one, of
course--just some of our neighbours."
I felt my spirits drop. I saw those of Hepatica and the Skeptic and the
Philosopher drop, although they made haste to prop their countenances
up again.
But the Judge protested. "Why give anything, my dear?" he questioned. "I
doubt if our friends would prefer meeting our neighbours, whom they
don't know, to visiting with ourselves, whom they do--however egotistic
that may sound."
"I want to make things gay for you," explained Camellia; "and the
Latimers and the Elliots are very gay."--The Judge only lifted his
handsome eyebrows.--"And the Liscombes are lovely," went on Camellia.
"Mrs. Liscombe sings."
The Judge ran his hand through the thick, slightly graying locks above
his broad forehead. He did not need to tell us that he did not enjoy
hearing Mrs. Liscombe sing, and doubted if we should.
"Harry Hodgson recites--we always have him when we want to make things
go. Oh, he's not a professional, of course. He only gives readings among
his special friends.
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