He shunned talking with Corey
at all, and suffered in grim silence.
One night, before they fell asleep, his wife said to him,
"I was reading in one of those books to-day, and I don't
believe but what we've made a mistake if Pen holds out
that she won't go."
"Why?" demanded Lapham, in the dismay which beset him
at every fresh recurrence to the subject.
"The book says that it's very impolite not to answer
a dinner invitation promptly. Well, we've done that all
right,--at first I didn't know but what we had been a little
too quick, may be,--but then it says if you're not going,
that it's the height of rudeness not to let them know
at once, so that they can fill your place at the table."
The Colonel was silent for a while. "Well, I'm dumned,"
he said finally, "if there seems to be any end to this thing.
If it was to do over again, I'd say no for all of us."
"I've wished a hundred times they hadn't asked us;
but it's too late to think about that now. The question is,
what are we going to do about Penelope?"
"Oh, I guess she'll go, at the last moment."
"She says she won't. She took a prejudice against
Mrs. Corey that day, and she can't seem to get over it."
"Well, then, hadn't you better write in the morning,
as soon as you're up, that she ain't coming?"
Mrs. Lapham sighed helplessly.
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