"We hardly expected to find any of the gentlemen at home," began the elder guest. "We are cousins, in a fashion, and my son has met the doctor——"
"Father is at home," said Margaret in the pause. "Hanny, run down-stairs and call him."
"Miss Underhill, I presume," exclaimed the young man. "I have seen your brother quite often of late. And do you know his chum, Phil Hoffman? Doctor, I ought to say," laughingly.
"Oh, yes," and Margaret colored a little.
Then her father came up. These were some of the Bounetts from New Rochelle, originally farther back from England and France in the time of the Huguenot persecution. Mr. Bounett's father had come to New York a young man seventy odd years ago. Mr. Bounett himself had married for his first wife a Miss Vermilye, whose mother had been an Underhill from White Plains. And she was Father Underhill's own cousin. She had been dead more than twenty years, and her children, five living ones, were all married and settled about, and he had five by his second marriage. This was the eldest son.
They talked family quite a while, and Mrs. Underhill was summoned. The young man went out in the back parlor where the table stood in its pretty holiday array, and was introduced to Margaret's friends. They hunted mottoes, which was often quite amusing, ate candies and almonds and bits of cake while the elder people were talking themselves into relationship. Eugene explained that his next younger brother was Louis; then a slip of a girl of fifteen and two young cubs completed the second family. But the older brothers and sisters were just like own folks; indeed he thought one sister, Mrs. French, was one of the most charming women he knew, only she did live in the wilds of Williamsburg. Francesca was married in the Livingston family and lived up in Manhattanville. How any one could bear to be out of the city—that meant below Tenth Street—he couldn't see!
"Is that little fairy your sister?" he asked. "Isn't she lovely!"
Margaret smiled. She thought Mr. Eugene very flattering. Then the others came out, and Mr. Bounett took a cup of black coffee and a very dainty sandwich. He left sweets to the young people. And now that they had broken the ice, he hoped the Underhills would be social. They, the Bounetts, lived over in Hammersley Street, which was really a continuation of Houston. And they might like to see grandfather, who was in his ninetieth year and still kept to his old French ways and fashions.
Miss Butler was very enthusiastic about the callers. "Why, you are quite French," she said, "only they show it in their looks."
"We have had so much English admixture," and Father Underhill laughed with a mellow sound. "But I've heard that my great grandmother was a useless fine lady when they came to this country, and had never dressed herself or brushed her hair, and had to have a lady's maid until she died. She never learned to speak English, or only a few words, but she could play beautifully on a harp and recite the French poets so well that people came from a distance to see her. But her daughters had a great many other things to learn, and were very smart women. My own grandmother could spin on the big wheel and the little wheel equal to any girl when she was seventy years old."