lunch to avoid pauses, in case, Octavia supposes, she should ask any more
difficult questions. So you see, Mamma, even a person with as fine
perceptions as Octavia can make awkward bêtises here. It is like steering
among the Thousand Islands and hidden rocks and currents.

Mrs. Van B.-C.'s (the name is really too long to go on writing) house is
perfectly awful. She told us so before we could even formulate the thought
ourselves! It was done up about fourteen years ago, she said, when it was
one of the first houses as high up on Fifth Avenue, and was the time of the
most appalling taste in decoration. Every sort of gilding and dreadful
Louis XV., and gorged cupids sitting on cannon ball clouds, with here and
there a good picture and bit of china, and crimson brocade edged with plush
for curtains!

She told us she did not mean to change it. It is comfortable, she said, and
lots of her new people really admire it in their hearts! And it will last
her time, and when her granddaughter comes into it it will no doubt be
"down town" and turned into a shop, things move so fast.

After lunch we all came up to this fearful salon, and then we saw what a
perfect hostess she is, moving from group to group and saying exactly the
right thing in her crisp, old voice--there is nothing sleepy and Southern
about her. At last she sat down by me and she told me such an exquisite
story, showing the feeling after the war and the real aristocrats the
Southerners were. Two old aunts of hers were left absolutely destitute,
having been great heiresses, and to support themselves took in sewing,
making dresses for their friends. Their overseer became immediately rich,
and a year or so afterwards gave a grand ball for his daughter. The day
before the ball an old and not bright friend called, and found Miss Barbara
sewing a white satin frock and the tears dropping from her eyes. She