"Mrs. March?" and then added to both of them, while she shook hands with
March, and before they could get the name out of their months: "No, not
Miss Dryfoos! Neither of them; nor Mrs. Dryfoos. Mrs. Mandel. The
ladies will be down in a moment. Won't you throw off your sacque, Mrs.
March? I'm afraid it's rather warm here, coming from the outside."

"I will throw it back, if you'll allow me," said Mrs. March, with a sort
of provisionality, as if, pending some uncertainty as to Mrs. Mandel's
quality and authority, she did not feel herself justified in going
further.

But if she did not know about Mrs. Mandel, Mrs. Mandel seemed to know
about her. "Oh, well, do!" she said, with a sort of recognition of the
propriety of her caution. "I hope you are feeling a little at home in
New York. We heard so much of your trouble in getting a flat, from Mr.
Fulkerson."

"Well, a true Bostonian doesn't give up quite so soon," said Mrs. March.

"But I will say New York doesn't seem so far away, now we're here."

"I'm sure you'll like it. Every one does." Mrs. Mandel added to March,
"It's very sharp out, isn't it?"

"Rather sharp. But after our Boston winters I don't know but I ought to
repudiate the word."

"Ah, wait till you have been here through March!" said Mrs. Mandel. She
began with him, but skillfully transferred the close of her remark, and
the little smile of menace that went with it, to his wife.