THE FIGHTING SHEPHERDESS
"I'm merely just," Mrs. Toomey retorted, though her heart was beating furiously. "All we know is hearsay."
With the restraint and sweetness of one who knows her power, Mrs. Pantin replied:
"I'm sure it's lovely of you to defend her."
"Not at all I like her personally," Mrs. Toomey answered stoutly.
It was time to lay on the lash; Mrs. Pantin saw that clearly.
"Nevertheless, as a friend I wouldn't advise you to take her up to er hobnob with her." Mrs. Pantin did not like the word, but the occasion required vigorous language.
"I'm the best judge of that. Prissy." Her hands were icy.
"When you came to town a stranger I tried to guide you in social matters," Mrs. Pantin reminded her. "I told you whose call to return and whose not to — you found my judgment good, didn't you?"
"You've been more than kind," Mrs. Toomey murmured miserably, and added, "I'm so sorry for her."
"We all are that, Delia, but nevertheless I think you will do well to follow my suggestion in this matter."
Mrs. Toomey recognized the veiled threat instantly. It conveyed to her social octracism not being asked to serve on church committees omitted when invitations for teas were being issued — cold-shouldered out of the Y. A. K. Society, which met monthly for purposes of mutual improvement of being blackballed, perhaps, when she would become a Maccabee! She repressed a shudder; her work swam before her downcast eyes and she drew up the darn on the stocking she was repairing until it looked like a wen. The ordeal was worse than she had imagined it.
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