life than ours.

My heart sank a little when I heard the sharp vibrating sound of
Mrs. Smedley's voice as we were announced. I had no idea that the
vicar and his wife were to be invited, but they were the only guests
beside ourselves. I never could like Mrs. Smedley and to the very
last I never changed my girlish opinion of her. I have a curious
instinctive repugnance to people who rustle through life; whose
entrances and exits are environed with noise; who announce their
intentions with the blast of the trumpet. Mrs. Smedley was a wordy
woman. She talked much and well, but her voice was loud and jarring.
She was not a bad-looking woman. I daresay in her younger days she
had been handsome, for her features were very regular and her
complexion good; but I always said that she had worn herself thin
with talking. She was terribly straight and angular (I am afraid I
called it bony); she had sharp high cheek bones, and her hands were
long and lean. On this evening she wore a rich brown brocade, that
creaked and rustled with every movement, and some Indian bangles that
jingled every time she raised her arm. I could not help comparing her
to Miss Ruth, who sat beside her, looking lovely in a black velvet
gown, and as soft and noiseless as a little mouse. I am afraid Mrs.
Smedley's clacking voice made her head ache terribly for she grew
paler and paler before the long dinner was over. As Miss Ruth greeted
me, I saw Mr. Lucas cross the room with Flurry holding his hand.

"Flurry must introduce me to her playfellow," he said, with a kind
glance at us both, as the child ran up to me and clasped me close.

"Oh, Esther, how I have wanted you and Juliet," she whispered; but
her father heard her.