"We'll write the Forsythes, of course, but the people at the rectory and Adele Dale ?--nonsense!" "It is not nonsense," Miss Ruth answered; "it is _proper_, and it must be done.

I understand these things, Deborah; you are so taken up with your cooking, you cannot really be expected to know.

When you invite city people to a formal dinner, everything must be done decently and in order.
It is not like asking the rector and Adele to drop in to tea any time." "Fudge!" responded Miss Deborah.
A faint color began to show in Miss Ruth's faded cheek, and she set her lips firmly.

"The invitations should be written," she said.
It was settled, as usual, by each sister doing exactly as she pleased.
Miss Deborah gave her invitations by word of mouth the next day, standing in the rain, under a dripping umbrella, by the church porch, while on Monday each of the desired guests received a formal note in Miss Ruth's precise and delicate hand, containing the compliments of the Misses Woodhouse, and a request for the honor of their company at dinner on Thursday, November 12th, at half past six o'clock.
A compromise had been effected about the hour.

Miss Ruth had insisted that it should be at eight, while Miss Deborah contended that as they dined, like all the rest of Ashurst, at noon, it was absurd to make it later than six, and Miss Ruth's utmost persuasion had only brought it to half past.
During these days of preparation Miss Ruth could only flutter upon the outskirts of the kitchen, which just now was a solemn place, and her suggestions were scarcely noticed, and never heeded.