Now that they were on the same committee, Mrs. Taylor could not altogether make her out.  She remembered that Mr. Glynn had said the same thing.  Mrs. Taylor was accustomed to conquests.  Without actual premeditation, she was agreeably conscious of being able to convert and sweep most opponents off their feet by the force of her pleasant personality.  In this case the effect was not so obvious.  She was conscious that Selma’s eyes were constantly fixed upon her, but as to what she was thinking Mrs. Taylor felt less certain.  Clearly she was mesmerized, but was the tribute admiration or hostility?  Mrs. Taylor was piqued, and put upon her metal.  Besides she needed Selma’s vote.  Not being skilled in psychological analyses, she had to resort to practical methods, and invited her to afternoon tea.

Selma had never been present at afternoon tea as a domestic function in her life.  Nor had she seen a home like Mrs. Taylor’s.  The house was no larger than her own, and had cost less.  Medicine had not been so lucrative as the manufacture of varnish.  Externally the house displayed stern lines of unadorned brick—­the custom-made style of Benham in the first throes of expansion before Mr. Pierce’s imagination had been stirred.  Mr. Taylor had bought it as it stood, and his wife had made no attempt to alter the outside, which was, after all, inoffensively homely.  But the interior was bewildering to Selma’s gaze in its suggestion of cosey comfort.  Pretty, tasteful things, many of them inexpensive knick-knacks of foreign origin—­a small picture, a bit of china, a mediaeval relic—­were cleverly placed as a relief to the conventional furniture.  Selma had been used to formalism in household garniture—­to a best room little used and precise with the rigor of wax flowers and black horse-hair, and to a living room where the effect sought was purely utilitarian.  Her new home, in spite of its colored glass and iron stag, was arranged in much this fashion, as were the houses of her neighbors which she had entered.

Selma managed to seat herself on the one straight-backed chair in the room.  From this she was promptly driven by Mrs. Taylor and established in one corner of a lounge with a soft silk cushion behind her, and further propitiated by the proffer of a cup of tea in a dainty cup and saucer.  All this, including Mrs. Taylor’s musical voice, easy speech, and ingratiating friendliness, alternately thrilled and irritated her.  She would have liked to discard her hostess from her thought as a light creature unworthy of intellectual seriousness, but she found herself fascinated and even thawed in spite of herself.

“I’m glad to have the opportunity really to talk to you,” said Mrs. Taylor.  “At the church reunions one is so liable to interruptions.  If I’m not mistaken, you taught school before you were married?”

“For a short time.”

“That must have been interesting.  It is so practical and definite.  My life,” she added deprecatingly, “has been a thing of threads and patches—­a bit here and a bit there.”