"_I'VE_ been thinking," said I, speaking to my husband, who stood
drawing on his gloves.

"Have you?" he answered; "then give me the benefit of your
thoughts."

"That we shall have to give a party. You know we've accepted a
number of invitations this winter, and it's but right that we should
contribute our share of social entertainment."

"I have thought as much myself," was his reply. "And so far we stand
agreed. But, as I am very busy just now, the heaviest part of the
burden will fall on you."

"There is a way of making it light, you know," I returned.

"How?" he queried.

"By employing a professional caterer. He will supply everything for
the table, and furnish writers. We will have nothing to do but
receive our guests."

My husband shrugged his shoulders and smiled, as he said, "What will
it cost?"

"Almost anything we please. But the size of the company will have
the most to do with that."

"Say we invite one hundred."

"Then we can make the cost range anywhere between three hundred
dollars and a thousand."

"A large sum to throw away on a single evening's entertainment of
our friends. I am very sure I could put it to a better use."

"Very likely," I answered. "Still, we cannot well help ourselves.
Unless we give a party, we shall have to decline invitations in
future. But there is no obligation resting on us to make it
sensational. Let the Hardings and the Marygolds emulate extravagance
in this line; we must be content with a fair entertainment; and no
friend worth the name will have any the less respect for us."

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