Mrs. Betty soon succeeded in winning a place for herself in the hearts of her parishioners, and those who called to look over her “clothes,” and see if she was going to “put on airs” as a city woman, called again because they really liked her. She returned the calls with equal interest, and soon had her part of the parish organization well in hand.

Maxwell’s choice was, in fact, heartily approved—except by Virginia Bascom and the Senior Warden. 131 The former took the opportunity to leave cards on an afternoon when all Durford was busily welcoming Betty at a tea; and was “not at home” when Betty duly returned the call. Virginia was also careful not to “see” either Betty or her husband if, by any chance, they passed her when in town.

Of all of which manoeuvres Betty and Donald remained apparently sublimely unconscious.

As a means of making some return for the good-hearted generosity and hospitality of the inhabitants, represented by the furniture at the rectory and many tea-parties under various roof-trees, Mrs. Maxwell persuaded her husband that they should give a parish party.

So invitations were issued broadcast, and Mrs. Burke was asked to scan the lists, lest anyone be omitted. China sufficient for the occasion was supplemented by Hepsey Burke and Jonathan Jackson, and Nickey laid his invaluable services under contribution to fetch and carry—organizing a corps of helpers.

The whole adult village,—at least the feminine portion of it,—young and old, presented themselves at the party, dressed in their best bibs and tuckers, amusing themselves outdoors at various improvised games, under the genial generalship of their host; 132 and regaling themselves within at the tea-tables presided over by Mrs. Betty, whose pride it was to have prepared with her own hands,—assisted by the indefatigable Hepsey,—all the cakes and preserves and other confections provided for the occasion. The whole party was one whole-hearted, simply convivial gathering—with but a single note to mar it; and who knows whether the rector, and still less the rector’s wife, would have noticed it, but for Hepsey Burke’s subsequent “boiling over?”

When the games and feast were at full swing, Virginia Bascom’s loud-voiced automobile drove up, and the door-bell pealed. The guests ceased chattering and the little maid, hired for the occasion, hurried from the tea-cups to answer the haughty summons. Through the silence in the tea-room, produced by the overpowering clatter of the bell, the voice of the little maid,—quite too familiar for the proper formality of the occasion, in Virginia’s opinion,—was heard to pipe out cheerily:

“Come right in, Miss Virginia; the folks has eat most all the victuals—but I guess Mrs. Maxwell’ll find ye some.”

“Please announce ‘Miss Virginia Bascom’,” droned the lady, ignoring the untoward levity of the now cowering maid, and followed her to the door of the 133 room full of guests, where she paused impressively.

“Mrs. Bascom,” called the confused maid, through the solemn silence, as all eyes turned towards the door, “here’s,—this is,—I mean Miss Virginia says Miss Virginia Maxwell––” After which confusing and somewhat embarrassing announcement the maid summarily fled to the kitchen, and left Virginia to her own devices.

Betty at once came forward, and quite ignoring the error, smiled a pleasant welcome.

“Miss Bascom, it is very nice to know you at last. We have been so unlucky, have we not?”

Virginia advanced rustling, and gave Betty a frigid finger-tip, held shoulder-high, and cast a collective stare at hostess and guests through her lorgnette, bowing to Maxwell and ignoring his proffered handshake.

There was an awkward pause. For once even Betty-the-self-possessed was at a loss for the necessary tactics.

A hearty voice soon filled the empty spaces: “Hello there, Ginty; I always did say those auto’s was a poor imitation of a street-car; when they get balky and leave you sticking in the road-side and make you behind-time, you can’t so much as get your fare back and walk. None but royalty, duchesses, and the four-hundred 134 can afford to risk losing their cup o’ tea in them things.”

There was a general laugh at Hepsey’s sally, and conversation again resumed its busy buzzing, and Virginia was obliged to realize that her entry had been something of a frost.

She spent some minutes drawing off her gloves, sipped twice at a cup of tea, and nibbled once at a cake; spent several more minutes getting her hands back into her gloves, fixed a good-by smile on her face, murmured some unintelligible words to her hostess, and departed, annoyed to realize that the engine of the awaiting car—kept running to emphasize her comet-like passage through so mixed an assembly—had become quite inaudible to the company.

“Such an insult!” stormed the lady, as she returned home in high dudgeon. “I might have been a nobody, the way they treated me. Dad shall hear of this; and I’ll see that he puts them where they belong. The impudence! And after his t-treating me s-s-so!” she wept with chagrin, and malice that betokened no good to the rector and his little wife.

Even so, it is doubtful if the host and hostess would have permitted themselves to notice the supercilious rudeness of the leader of Durford “Society,” had Hepsey been able to curb her indignation. 135

As she and Betty and the little maid, assisted by Donald and Nickey and his helpers, were clearing up the fragments that remained of the entertainment, Hepsey broke forth:

“If I don’t set that young woman down in her place where she belongs before I’ve done, I’ve missed my guess: ‘Please announce Miss Virginia Bascom,’ indeed! If that isn’t sauce, I’m the goose.”

“Oh never mind, Mrs. Burke,” soothed Betty in a low voice; “she’ll soon realize that we’re doing things in good old country style, and haven’t brought any city ways with us to Durford. I dare say she thought––”

“Thought nothin’!” replied the exasperated Hepsey. “I’ll thought her, with her high looks and her proud stomach, as the psalmist says. I’d like—oh, wouldn’t I just like to send up a nice little basket of these left-over victuals to Ginty, ‘with Mrs. Maxwell’s regards.’”

She laughed heartily, but Betty was determined not to let herself dwell on anything so trivial, and soon, by way of changing the subject, she was putting Nickey up to the idea of forming a boy-scout corps, which, as she added, could present the village with a thoroughly versatile organization, both useful and ornamental. 136

“Gee,” remarked Nickey, who quickly saw himself captaining a body of likely young blades, “that’d be some lively corpse, believe me. When can we start in, Mrs. Maxwell?”

“You must ask Mr. Maxwell all about that, Nickey,” she laughed.

“But not now,” interposed his mother. “You come along with me this minute, and let Mr. Maxwell have a bit of peace; I know how he just loves these teas. Good night, all!” she called as she departed with her son under her wing.

“Donald! Wasn’t it all fun—and weren’t they all splendid?” Betty glowed.

“More fun than a barrel of Bascoms—monkeys, I mean,” he corrected himself, laughing at Betty’s shocked expression.