"I had forgotten Mrs. Carmichael has not called on you, Effie May," she said quickly. "Of course that makes it impossible for me to accept their invitation. I'll tell Emily." And neither the Major's hasty reassurances or her step-mother's remonstrances sufficed to alter her decision. She declined Emily's invitation, and told her why. "You're quite right, and Mother'd be the first person to tell you so," said Emily in instant approval. "I'll see what I can do. You know--" she hesitated--"it isn't that there's any _reason_ for her not to call. Of course everybody knows who your father is, and he's perfectly delightful, too! It's just--" "I understand," said Joan quietly. Emily put an arm around her. "My dear, I hope you do--This is such a small puddle that the big frogs in it take themselves rather seriously. And it's changing lately. It used to be that in the South money or the lack of it meant almost nothing at all. Now it means a great deal--more, I fancy, than in places where there's more of it. It doesn't seem to take even one generation to make a gentleman nowadays--or what passes for a gentleman. And so the old guard feel that they have to be especially wary, to make a decided stand, in order to retain their own identity. They're horribly afraid of being--not exterminated exactly, but--" "Mixed?" suggested Joan. "I remember you called me 'mixed' the first time you deigned to notice me." "Not the first time--the second," laughed Emily, blushing. "The first time was on the train, and you had flowers and a box of candy, and I hadn't.--The second time you were such a haughty little minx, with your Eastern airs and your lovely clothes, and so utterly unaware of my provincial existence, that I simply _had_ to snub you somehow!" "Well!" gasped Joan. "That is exactly the way I felt about you!" "And there we were bristling our hackles at each other like two strange puppy dogs, each waiting for the other to wag a tail. Anyway, I wagged first!" cried Emily, kissing her friend. "And I'm not going to lose you now, simply because my family hasn't been polite to your family." "You couldn't!" said Joan rather shyly, kissing her in return.... As a result of this understanding, some days later the cards of both Judge and Mrs. Jonathan Carmichael appeared on the Darcy hall table (from which they were not removed until gray with age and exposure); to be followed by an even more unequivocal bit of pasteboard which informed Mrs. and Miss Darcy that Mrs. Carmichael would be at home on a certain afternoon in April from four until six. Effie May's innocent joy in this trophy, and the frequency with which it figured in subsequent conversations, filled Joan with a combination of embarrassment and satisfaction. She felt that she had at last done something to repay, in part, the obligation she owed to her father's wife....