the wide, grassless street, between the high, windowy bulks of the shoe
shops and hat shops. The dust gradually freed itself from the cinders
about the tracks, and it hardened into a handsome, newly made road beyond
the houses of the shop hands. They passed some open lots, and then, on a
pleasant rise of ground, they came to a stately residence, lifted still
higher on its underpinning of granite blocks. It was built in a Boston
suburban taste of twenty years ago, with a lofty mansard-roof, and it was
painted the stone-grey colour which was once esteemed for being so quiet.
The lawn before it sloped down to the road, where it ended smoothly at the
brink of a neat stone wall. A black asphalt path curved from the steps by
which you mounted from the street to the steps by which you mounted to the
heavy portico before the massive black walnut doors.

The ladies were shown into the music-room, from which the notes of a piano
were sounding when they rang, and Mrs. Wilmington rose from the instrument
to meet them. A young man who had been standing beside her turned away.
Mrs. Wilmington was dressed in a light morning dress with a Watteau fall,
whose delicate russets and faded reds and yellows heightened the richness
of her complexion and hair.

"Why, Annie," she said, "how glad I am to see you! And you too, Mrs.
Munger. How _vurry_ nice!" Her words took value from the thick
mellow tones of her voice, and passed for much more than they were worth
intrinsically. She moved lazily about and got them into chairs, and was not
resentful when Mrs. Munger broke out with "How hot you have it!" "Have we?
We had the furnace lighted yesterday, and we've been in all the morning,
and so we hadn't noticed. Jack, won't you shut the register?" she drawled
over her shoulder. "This is my nephew, Mr. Jack Wilmington, Miss Kilburn.
Mr. Wilmington and Mrs. Munger are old friends."