The pastor came back upon the platform and announced that refreshments would be served at the conclusion of the next number.  A heavy odor of coffee continued to float from the church kitchen.  A red-haired woman stepped forward and began to sing.

Already Claire Robson dreaded the ordeal of supper.  The fact that tables were being laid further disturbed her.  This meant that she and her mother would have to push their way into some group which, at best, would remain indifferent to their presence.  When coffee was served informally things were not so awkward.  To be sure, one had to balance coffee-cup and cake-plate with an amazing and painful skill, but, on the other hand, table-less groups did not emphasize one’s isolation.  Claire had got to the point where she would have welcomed active hostility on the part of her fellow church members, but their utter indifference was soul-killing.  She would have liked to remember one occasion when any one had betrayed the slightest interest in either her arrival or departure, or rather in the arrival and departure of her mother and herself.

The solo came to an end, and the inevitable applause followed, but before the singer could respond to the implied encore most of the listeners began frank and determined advances upon the tables.  The concert was over.

Mrs. Robson rose and faced Claire with a look of bewilderment.  As usual, mother and daughter stood irresolutely, caught like two trembling leaves in the backwater of a swirling eddy.  At last Claire made a movement toward the nearest table.  Mrs. Robson followed.  They sat down.

The scattered company speedily began to form into congenial groups.  There was a great deal of suddenly loosened chatter.  Claire Robson sat silently, rather surprised and dismayed to find that she and her mother had chosen a table which seemed to be the objective of all the prominent church members.  The company facing her was elegant, if not precisely smart, and there were enough laces and diamonds displayed to have done excellent service if the proper background had been provided.  Claire was further annoyed to discover that her mother was regarding the situation with a certain ruffling self-satisfaction which she took no pains to conceal.  Mrs. Robson bowed and smirked, and even called gaily to every one within easy range.  There was something distasteful in her mother’s sudden and almost aggressive self-assurance.

Gradually the company adjusted itself; the tables were filled.  The only moving figures were those of young women carrying huge white pitchers of steaming coffee.  Claire Robson settled into her seat with a resignation born of subtle inner misery.  Across her brain flashed the insistent and pertinent questions that such a situation always evoked.  Why was she not one of these young women engaged in distributing refreshments?  Did the circles close automatically so as to exclude her, or did her own aloofness shut