She had such an attractive face, framed in with rows of snowy puffs, quite gone out of date, but becoming to her nevertheless.
"I feel that I almost know you," she said sweetly, "though I half mistook you for Miss Whitney; but she is dark, and you are fair, so I ought not to have made the blunder. I know your brother Stephen and his wife."
"Oh!" Hanny gave it a glad little sound, and smiled, as she put out her small hand.
Mrs. Kirtland took the unoccupied seat.
"I suppose you have hardly begun life, you look so young. But no doubt you are a genius of some sort. Mrs. Osgood is so extraordinarily good to young geniuses."
"No, I haven't any genius," and Hanny flushed, as she gave a beguiling smile that lighted up her face. "And though there are a good many of us, we have not even a family genius."
"That depends upon whether you restrict the word to painting a picture or writing a poem or a story. Mr. Stephen Underhill is very highly spoken of as one of the promising young business-men. And is it your brother who was in the office of old Dr. Fitch, and in the hospital?"
"Yes, ma'am," returned Hanny, with a glow of pleasure. Young people were still expected to say "Yes, sir," and "Yes, ma'am," to their elders, out of respect.
"That does very well for one family, though the Whitneys seem to have a good share. Miss Delia is quite a success, I hear. And we always find Mr. Whitney very entertaining. Have you known them long?"
"Oh, for years, seven almost. And we used to be neighbours."