Read Online Let Me Tell You by Shirley Jackson - Free Book Online Page A

white roses because they were my favorite flower and she was expecting me to call—”
    “You ought to, as a matter of fact,” Harry said. “Common courtesy.”
    “But I don’t even
know
them,” Mrs. Spencer said.
    “If they’re friends of your sister’s—”
    “Really,” Mrs. Spencer said. Her fingers tensed on the handle of her coffee cup. “Harry,” she said, then stopped. Finally she said, “If I call on them, then they’ll expect to visit
here.
”
    “Why not?” Harry said. “You could buy
her
favorite flowers. They are very pleasant people, anyway.”
    “Introduce them to
my
friends?” Mrs. Spencer was astounded. “
My
friends, Harry?”
    “Then do as you think best,” Harry said slowly. “I just thought they were very pleasant people.”
    Mrs. Spencer lifted her chin regally. “I do not call on people who capitalize on my name,” she said.
    Harry glanced up, sardonically. “It’s my name, too,” he said, “and I’m honored.”
    —
    Pamela Worthington was quite surprised, she told everyone, to find that the Spencers had not gone to the Oberons’ housewarming; it was certainly
the
party of the summer, although probably the Oberons would surpass it themselves, the summer being young. At any rate, one would surely have expected the Spencers, of all people, to be there with their old friends.
    “I simply couldn’t understand it,” Pamela Worthington said at last to Mrs. Spencer. “You, of all people.”
    “We were not invited,” Mrs. Spencer said. “We don’t know the people.”
    “Margaret,
honestly.
Rosie Oberon will simply
die
when she hears you thought you weren’t invited. She’ll simply
die.
”
    “We were not invited.”
    “But, my dear,
of course
you were invited. Rosie told me herself she was expecting you, and all evening they were absolutely
watching
for you.”
    “We do not know the people.”
    Pamela stared. “But Harry
introduced
me to them, right there in the bank.” Then she stopped, and lowered her voice. “Really, Margaret,” she said, “whatever this is all about, I
do
think you’re making too much of it. I don’t know what they ever could have done to offend you.”
    Mrs. Spencer snapped her pocketbook open, and then shut, with finality. “Furthermore,” she said, “I do not
want
to know them.”
    “It’s your business, after all.” Pamela’s tone had grown definitely colder. “I always knew you could carry a grudge, Margaret, but I do think that in this case you’re just carrying one too far. Rosie Oberon is one of the sweetest people I ever met, and I just don’t see how it’s
possible
to carry on a feud with her.”
    Mrs. Spencer turned away. “I said I do not know the people,” she said. “That should be enough for any of my friends.”
    “Maybe,” Pamela said, perhaps not quite loud enough to be heard, “maybe you don’t have that many friends to spare.”
    —
    The blossoms fell from the peach tree and were swept up by the boy who did the Spencers’ lawn; dandelions sprang up, Donnie and Irma were released at last from school, the weather turned almost warm enough for swimming. On a Thursday, just two weeks after the Oberons’ first letter had come, Mrs. Spencer was late getting home, held up by a tiresome woman who could not understand why the country club dances had to be kept small and exclusive and thought an important committee meeting was the place to argue about it; people should be more discriminating, Mrs. Spencer had been telling herself crossly all the way home; after all the work we’ve done to keep things nice, someone always turns up without any appreciation or understanding. Because she was angry and in a hurry she ripped her stocking getting out of her car, and
that
meant she would have to change stockings before dinner, and that meant she would be even later; almost running, she went quickly into her house. Surely one might get by without these petty irritations, she was thinking.
    “Dorothy?” she