wore their honors easily and unquestioned, and those who were not went their uncomplaining ways in their own humble spheres.
Mrs. Van Dorn and Mrs. Henry Lee, gathering up their silken raiment genteelly, holding their visiting-cards daintily, went up the front-door steps, and Mrs. Lee, taking that duty upon herself, since she was Mrs. Van Dorn's guest, pulled the door-bell, having first folded her handkerchief around her white glove.
“It takes so little to soil white gloves,” said she, “and I think it is considerable trouble to send them in and out to be cleaned.”
“I clean mine with gasolene myself,” said Mrs. Van Dorn, with the superiority of a woman who has no need for such economies, yet practises them, over a woman who has need but does not.
“I never had much luck cleaning them myself,” said Mrs. Lee, apologetically.
“It is a knack,” admitted Mrs. Van Dorn. Then they waited in silence, listening for an approaching footstep.
“If she isn't at home,” whispered Mrs. Van Dorn, “We can make another call before the two hours are up.” Mr. Rawdy was hired by the hour.
“Yes, we can,” assented Mrs. Lee.
Then they waited, and neither spoke. Mrs. Lee had occasion to sneeze, but she pinched her nose energetically and repressed it.
Suddenly both straightened themselves and held their cards in readiness.
“How does my bonnet look?” whispered Mrs. Lee.
Mrs. Van Dorn paid no attention, for then the door was opened and Mrs. Morris's maid appeared, with cap awry and her white apron over a blue-checked gingham which was plainly in evidence at the sides.
The ladies gave her their cards, and followed her into the best parlor, which was commonly designated in Banbridge as the reception-room. The best parlor was furnished with a sort of luxurious severity. There were a few pieces of staid old furniture of a much earlier period than the others, but they were rather in the background in the gloomy corners, and the new pieces were thrust firmly forward into greater evidence.
Mrs. Van Dorn sat down on the corner of a fine velvet divan, and Mrs. Lee near her on the edge of a gold chair. Then they waited, while the maid retired with their cards. “It's a pretty room, isn't it?” whispered Mrs. Lee, looking about.
“Beautiful.”
“She kept a few pieces of the old furniture that she had in her old house when this new one was built, didn't she?”
“Yes. I suppose she didn't feel as if she could buy all new.”
The ladies studied all the furnishings of the room, keeping their faces in readiness to assume their calling expression at an instant's notice when the hostess should appear.
“Did she have those vases on the mantel-shelf in the old house?” whispered Mrs. Lee, after a while; but Mrs. Van Dorn made a warning gesture, and instantly both ladies straightened themselves and looked pleasantly expectant, and Mrs. Morris appeared.
She was a short and florid woman, and her face was flushed a deep rose; beads of perspiration glistened on her forehead, her black hair clung to it in wet strands. In her expression polite greeting and irritation and intense discomfort struggled for mastery. She had been house-cleaning when the door-bell rang, and had hastened into her black skirt and black-and-white silk blouse. The blouse was buttoned wrong, and it did not meet the skirt in the back; and she had quite overlooked her neckgear, but of that she was pleasantly unconscious, also of the fact that there was a large black smooch beside her nose, giving her both a rakish and a sinister air.
“I am so glad to find you in,” said Mrs. Van Dorn.
“I was telling Mrs. Van Dorn that I was so afraid you would be out, it is such a lovely day,” said Mrs. Lee.
“I am so glad I was in,” responded Mrs. Morris, with effusion. “I should have been so disappointed to miss your call.”
Then the ladies seated themselves, and the conversation went on. Overhead the maid could be heard heavily tramping. The carpet of that room was up, and the mistress and maid had planned to replace it before night; but the mistress held fast to her effusive air of welcome. It had never been fashionable or even allowable not to be at home when one was at home in Banbridge. When Banbridge ladies went abroad calling, in the coach, much was exacted. Mrs. Morris could never have held up her social head again had she fibbed, or bidden the maid fib—that is, if it had been discovered.
“How lovely your house is, Mrs. Morris!” said Mrs. Van Dorn, affably. The Morris house was only a year old, and had not yet been nearly exhausted as a topic of polite conversation.
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Morris. “Of course there are things about the furnishings, but one cannot do everything in a minute.”
“Now, my dear Mrs. Morris,” said Mrs. Lee, “I think everything is sweet.” Mrs. Lee said sweet with an effect as if she stamped hard to emphasize it. She made it long and extremely sibilant. Mrs. Lee always said sweet after that fashion.
“Oh, of course you would rather have all your furniture new, than part new and part old,” said Mrs. Van Dorn; “but, as you say, you can't do everything at once.”
Mrs. Van Dorn was inclined at times to be pugnaciously truthful, when she heard any one else lie. Her hostess looked uneasily at an old red velvet sofa in a dark corner, which was not so dark that a worn place along the front edge did not seem to glare at her. Nobody by any chance sat on that sofa and looked at the resplendent new one. They always sat on the new and faced the old. Mrs. Morris began absently calculating, while the conversation went on to other topics, if she could possibly manage a new sofa before summer.
Mrs. Lee asked if she knew if the new people in the Ranger place, “Willow Lake,” were very rich? She said she had heard they were almost millionaires.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Morris. “Very rich indeed. Mr. Morris says he thinks they must be, from everything he hears.”
“Of course it does not matter in one way or another whether they are rich or not,” said Mrs. Lee.
“Well, I don't know,” said Mrs. Van Dorn. “Of course nobody is going to say that money is everything, and of course everybody knows that good character is worth more than anything else, and yet I do feel as if folks with money can do so much if they have the will.”
“I think that these new people are very generous with their money,” said Mrs. Morris. “I heard they about supported the church in Hillfield, New York, where they used to live, and Captain Carroll has joined the Village Improvement Society, and he says he is very much averse to trading with any but the local tradesmen.”
“What is he captain of?” inquired Mrs. Lee, who had at times a fashion of putting a question in a most fatuously simple and childish manner.
“Oh, I don't suppose he is really captain of anything now,” replied Mrs. Morris. “I don't know how he happened to be captain, but I suppose he must have been a captain in the regular army.”
“I suppose he hasn't any business, he is so very rich?”
“Oh yes; he has something in the City. I dare say he does not do very much at it, but I presume he is an active man and does not want to be idle.”
“Why didn't he stay in the army, then?” asked Mrs. Lee, clasping her small white kid hands and puckering her face inquiringly.
“I don't know. Perhaps that was too hard, or took him away too far. I suppose some of those army posts are pretty desolate places to live in, and perhaps his wife was afraid of the Indians.”
“He's got a wife and family, I hear,” said Mrs. Van Dorn.
Both calling ladies were leaning farther and farther towards Mrs. Morris with an absorption of delight. It was as if the three had their heads together over a honey-pot.
“Mr.