Entertaining, in any formal sense, was also out of the question, for to be done well it must be done constantly and easily, and the Oliver larder and linen closet did not lend itself to impromptu suppers and long dinners.  Susan was too concerned in the manufacture of nourishing puddings and soups, too anxious to have thirty little brown stockings and twenty little blue suits hanging on the line every Monday morning to jeopardize the even running of her domestic machinery with very much hospitality.  She loved to have any or all of the Carrolls with her, welcomed Billy’s business associates warmly, and three times a year had Georgie and her family come to a one o’clock Sunday dinner, and planned for the comfort of the O’Connors, little and big, with the greatest pleasure and care.  But this was almost the extent of her entertaining in these days.

Isabel Furlong had indeed tried to bridge the gulf that lay between their manners of living, with a warm and sweet insistence that had conquered even the home-loving Billy.  Isabel had silenced all of Susan’s objections—­Susan must bring the boys; they would have dinner with Isabel’s own boy, Alan, then the children could all go to sleep in the Furlong nursery, and the mothers have a chat and a cup of tea before it was time to dress for dinner.  Isabel’s car should come all the way to Oakland for them, and take them all home again the next day.

“But, angel dear, I haven’t a gown!” protested Susan.

“Oh, Sue, just ourselves and Daddy and John’s mother!”

“I could freshen up my black—–­” mused Susan.

“Of course you could!” triumphed Isabel.  And her enthusiasm carried the day.  The Olivers went to dine and spend the night with the Furlongs, and were afterward sorry.

In the first place, it was expensive.  Susan indeed “freshened up” the black gown, but slippers and gloves, a belt and a silk petticoat were new for the occasion.  The boys’ wardrobes, too, were supplemented with various touches that raised them nearer the level of young Alan’s clothes; Billy’s dress suit was pressed, and at the last moment there seemed nothing to be done but buy a new suitcase—­ his old one was quite too shabby.

The children behaved well, but Susan was too nervous about their behavior to appreciate that until the visit was long over, and the exquisite ease and order of Isabel’s home made her feel hopelessly clumsy, shabby and strange.  Her mood communicated itself somewhat to Billy, but Billy forgot all lesser emotions in the heat of a discussion into which he entered with Isabel’s father during dinner.  The old man was interested, tolerant, amused.  Susan thought Billy nothing short of rude, although the meal finished harmoniously enough, and the men made an engagement the next morning to see each other again, and thresh out the subject thoroughly.

Isabel kept Susan until afternoon, and strolled with her across the road to show her the pretty house that had been the Wallaces’ home, in her mother’s lifetime, empty now, and ready to lease.