Neither was there any time to be lost over the invitations.  Miss Felicia, we may be sure, prepared the list.  It never bothered her head whether the trip to Geneseo—­and that, too, in the fall of the year, when early snows were to be expected—­might prevent any of the invited guests from witnessing the glad ceremony.  Those who loved Ruth she knew would come even if they had to be accompanied by St. Bernard dogs with kegs of brandy tied to their necks to get them across the glaciers, including Uncle Peter, of course; as would also Ruth’s dear grandmother, who was just Miss Felicia’s age, and MacFarlane’s saintly sister Kate, who had never taken off her widow’s weeds since the war, and two of her girl friends, with whom Ruth went to school, and who were to be her bridesmaids.

Then there were those who might or might not struggle through the drifts, if there happened to be any—­the head of the house of Breen, for instance, and Mrs. B., and lots and lots of people of whom Jack had never heard, aunts and uncles and cousins by the dozens; and lots and lots of people of whom Ruth had never heard, of the same blood relationship; and lots more of people from Washington Square and Murray Hill, who loved the young people, and Peter, and his outspoken sister, all of whom must be invited to the ceremony; including the Rector and his wife from Corklesville, and—­(no—­that was all from Corklesville) together with such selected inhabitants of Geneseo as dame Felicia permitted inside of her doors.  As for the several ambassadors, generals, judges, dignitaries, attaches, secretaries, and other high and mighty folks forming the circle of Miss Felicia’s acquaintance, both here and abroad, they were only to receive “announcement” cards, just as a reminder that Miss Grayson of Geneseo was still in and of the world.

The hardest nut of all to crack was given to Jack.  They had all talked it over, the dear girl saying “of course he shall come, Jack, if you would like to have him.”  Jack adding that he should “never forget his generosity,” and MacFarlane closing the discussion by saying: 

“Go slow, Jack.  I’d say yes in a minute.  I am past all those foolish prejudices, but it isn’t your house, remember.  Better ask Peter—­he’ll tell you.”

Peter pursed his mouth when Jack laid the matter before him in Peter’s room the next day, tipped his head so far on one side that it looked as if it might roll off any minute and go smash, and with an arching of his eyebrows said: 

“Well, but why not invite Isaac?  Has anybody ever been as good to you?”

“Never any one, Uncle Peter—­and I think as you do, and so does Ruth and Mr. MacFarlane, but—­” The boy hesitated and looked away.

“But what?” queried Peter.

“Well—­there’s Aunt Felicia.  You know how particular she is; and she doesn’t know how splendid Mr. Cohen has been, and if he came to the wedding she might not like it.”