calls before lunch, and then you can come home with me."

Annie suggested that this would not do after refusing Mrs. Brandreth.

"Why, it would never have done to _accept_!" Mrs. Munger cried. "They
didn't dream of it!" At the next place she said: "This is the Clevingers'.
_They're_ some of our all-the-year-round people too." She opened the
door without ringing, and let herself noisily in. "This is the way we run
in, without ceremony, everywhere. It's quite one family. That's the charm
of the place. We expect to take each other as we find them."

Her freedom did not find the ladies off their guard anywhere. At all the
houses there was a skurrying of feet and a flashing of skirts out of the
room or up the stairs, and there was an interval for a thorough study of
the features of the room before the hostess came in, with the effect of
coming in just as she was. She had naturally always made some change in
her dress, and Annie felt that she had not really liked being run in upon.
Everywhere they talked to her about the theatricals; and they talked across
her to Mrs. Munger, about one another, pretty freely.

"Well, that's all there is of us at present," said Mrs. Munger, coming down
the main road with her from the last place, "and you see just what we are.
It's a neighbourhood where everybody's just adapted to everybody else.
It's not a mere mush of concession, as Emerson says; people are perfectly
outspoken; but there's the greatest good feeling, and no vulgar display, or
lavish expenditure, or--anything."

Annie walked slowly homeward. She was tired, and she was now aware of
having been extremely bored by the South Hatboro' people. She was very
censorious of them, as we are of other people when we have reason to be