They had already learned from the agent that the
family consisted of two only, Mrs. Westmacott, a widow, and her nephew,
Charles Westmacott. How simple and how select it had sounded! Who
could have foreseen from it these fearful portents which seemed to
threaten violence and discord among the dwellers in The Wilderness?
Again the two old maids cried in heartfelt chorus that they wished they
had not sold their field.
"Well, at least, Monica," remarked Bertha, as they sat over their
teacups that afternoon, "however strange these people may be, it is our
duty to be as polite to them as to the others."
"Most certainly," acquiesced her sister.
"Since we have called upon Mrs. Hay Denver and upon the Misses Walker,
we must call upon this Mrs. Westmacott also."
"Certainly, dear. As long as they are living upon our land I feel as if
they were in a sense our guests, and that it is our duty to welcome
them."
"Then we shall call to-morrow," said Bertha, with decision.
"Yes, dear, we shall. But, oh, I wish it was over!"
At four o'clock on the next day, the two maiden ladies set off upon
their hospitable errand. In their stiff, crackling dresses of black
silk, with jet-bespangled jackets, and little rows of cylindrical grey
curls drooping down on either side of their black bonnets, they looked
like two old fashion plates which had wandered off into the wrong
decade.
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