Here was the first dinner party which Mr. and Mrs. Germaine had
given since their marriage. Three of Mr. Germaine's friends, all
married men, had been invited with their wives to meet Mr.
Germaine's wife, and had (evidently) accepted the invitation
without reserve. What discoveries had taken place between the
giving of the invitation and the giving of the dinner it was
impossible to say. The one thing plainly discernible was, that in
the interval the three wives had agreed in the resolution to
leave their husbands to represent them at Mrs. Germaine's table;
and, more amazing still, the husbands had so far approved of the
grossly discourteous conduct of the wives as to consent to make
the most insultingly trivial excuses for their absence. Could any
crueler slur than this have been cast on a woman at the outs et
of her married life, before the face of her husband, and in the
presence of two strangers from another country? Is "martyrdom"
too big a word to use in describing what a sensitive person must
have suffered, subjected to such treatment as this? Well, I think
not.

We took our places at the dinner-table. Don't ask me to describe
that most miserable of mortal meetings, that weariest and
dreariest of human festivals! It is quite bad enough to remember
that evening--it is indeed.

My wife and I did our best to keep the conversation moving as
easily and as harmlessly as might be. I may say that we really
worked hard. Nevertheless, our success was not very encouraging.
Try as we might to overlook them, there were the three empty
places of the three absent women, speaking in their own dismal
language for themselves. Try as we might to resist it, we all