"For Heaven's sake, Margaret," he broke out, in a passion he could
not control, "don't say that again! It's an outrage. You'll give
mortal offence if you use such language."
"It is best to call things by their right names," replied Mrs.
Birtwell, in no way disturbed by her husband's weak anger. "As names
signify qualities, we should be very careful how we deceive others
by the use of wrong ones. To call a lion a lamb might betray a blind
or careless person into the jaws of a ferocious monster, or to speak
of the fruit of the deadly nightshade as a cherry might deceive a
child into eating it."
"You are incorrigible," said Mr. Birtwell, his anger subsiding. It
never went very deep, for his nature was shallow.
"No, not incorrigible, but right," returned Mrs. Birtwell.
"Then we are not to have a party this winter?"
"I did not say so. On the contrary, I am ready to entertain our
friends, but the party I give must be one in which no wine or brandy
is served."
"Preposterous!" ejaculated Mr. Birtwell. "We'd make ourselves the
laughing-stock of the city."
"Perhaps not," returned his wife.
Mr. Birtwell shook his head and shut his mouth tightly:
"There's no use in talking about it if the thing can't be done
right, it can't be done at all."
"So say I. Still, I would do it right and show society a better way
if you were brave enough to stand by my side. But as you are not,
our party must go by default this winter.
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