There was, then, cause for the wife’s pleasurable flutter of spirits and the doubtful satisfaction expressed, against his intention, in the husband’s visage at the close prospect of a state banquet given in honor of their undistinguished selves, at which anonymous edibles would be washed down with foreign wines, and spicy _entrées_ be punctuated by spicy hors _d’œuvres_. Arthur’s predominant quality was sound sense, and as his spouse had anticipated, his first emotion after hearing her tale was wonder at the sudden and violent increase of friendship consequent upon their change of residence, in one who had apparently forgotten the unimportant fact of her favorite schoolfellow’s existence for more than five years. “I can’t imagine why she should care to take us up now,” he demurred. Susie’s ready flush testified to the hurt he had dealt her pride or affections. She thought to the latter. “If you would only not let your prejudice master your reason!” she sighed. “All New York women hate and dread ferries.” “There is the Bridge!” put in the Brooklyn-born literalist. “Which would have taken visitors _miles_ away from us. I was afraid you would wet-blanket the whole affair. I really dreaded to tell you of what I was silly enough to look forward to with pleasure. You see you don’t know what a fine, genuine creature Kitty is. But we won’t dispute over her or her dinner party. I can write to her and say that we regret our inability to accept the invitation.” Arthur closed his teeth upon another struggling sentence. Although even less of a society man than she was of a society woman, he had a definite impression that invitations to dinner were usually sent out some days in advance of the “occasion.” Less distinct, because intuitive, was the idea that gay young women, already laden with social obligations, did not press attentions upon everyday folk from Brooklyn, E. D., unless they hoped to gain something by it, or were addicted to patronage. The former hypothesis being, as he conceived, untenable, it followed that Mrs. Hitt, a good-natured rattle, must have said more than she meant of her intentions toward the strangers, or that she had a native fondness for playing the lady patroness.