the British coast. She was accompanied by her sister,
but she was not attended by any other member of her family.
To the deprivation of her husband's society Mrs. Westgate was,
however, habituated; she had made half a dozen journeys
to Europe without him, and she now accounted for his absence,
to interrogative friends on this side of the Atlantic,
by allusion to the regrettable but conspicuous fact that in
America there was no leisure class. The two ladies came up
to London and alighted at Jones's Hotel, where Mrs. Westgate,
who had made on former occasions the most agreeable impression
at this establishment, received an obsequious greeting.
Bessie Alden had felt much excited about coming to England;
she had expected the "associations" would be very charming,
that it would be an infinite pleasure to rest her eyes upon
the things she had read about in the poets and historians.
She was very fond of the poets and historians, of the picturesque,
of the past, of retrospect, of mementos and reverberations
of greatness; so that on coming into the English world,
where strangeness and familiarity would go hand in hand,
she was prepared for a multitude of fresh emotions.
They began very promptly--these tender, fluttering sensations;
they began with the sight of the beautiful English landscape,
whose dark richness was quickened and brightened by the season;
with the carpeted fields and flowering hedgerows, as she
looked at them from the window of the train; with the spires
of the rural churches peeping above the rook-haunted treetops;
with the oak-studded parks, the ancient homes, the cloudy light,
the speech, the manners, the thousand differences.
Mrs. Westgate's impressions had, of course, much less novelty
and keenness, and she gave but a wandering attention to her