“Why, she must be quite intimate there; she visits the house often, and Mrs. Dixon gives her a lovely Christmas-gift every year.”
“Very well, we will leave the question for the present. I will think it over.”
In the end, however, Persis had her way, for after Connie had spent a couple of days with the Holmes girls, Mrs. Holmes yielded.
“There is nothing to condemn in Connie that I can see,” she said to Mrs. Estabrook. “I do not see but that she is as well behaved as most girls; so, as Persis seems to have set her heart upon this visit, we may as well consent to her going. Any friends of Mrs. Dixon’s must be all right.”
“Now, dear,” she charged Persis, “remember one or two things: always be prompt to your meals; it is a discourtesy to your hostess to be otherwise. Do not expect to be entertained every moment. Have some consideration for the convenience of your entertainers, and help when you see that your assistance would be acceptable. Don’t demand of the maids more than is your share of service. You have never been away from home alone until now, and I want you to be as courteous and kind as you can, in return for the hospitality offered you. In other words, do as you would have others do to you; that, after all, is the best rule for etiquette.” And Persis set off in high glee.
It was late on Wednesday evening that she arrived with Connie Steuart at her home, something less than a hundred miles distant from where the Holmes family lived. It was bleak, chilly weather, and Persis looked forward to a cosey evening at a comfortable fireside. The house was one of a long row in a crowded street, the dreariness of which was increased by the season. A few leafless trees, sparse and unhealthy-looking, were seen along the sidewalk; the houses were dingy; dust-heaps were collected before the doors; bits of paper blew hither and thither upon the unswept pavement. Up the wooden steps, which showed signs of having needed paint for many a day, the two girls went. They were met in the hall by Mrs. Steuart in a rusty black dress, elaborately trimmed with what had once been showy jet trimming. Following her came Connie’s sisters, Imogene and Oriana. A fit of homesickness overcame Persis the moment she entered the house, and she felt as if she must rush out and take the next train home.
They were ushered into a room full of odors of cooking, mingled with the faint remains of cheap perfume. It seemed to Persis that the place could not have been aired since summer. There was a perfect hodge-podge of trumpery ornamentation to be seen; gaudily upholstered furniture was crowded into the small space; an open piano was littered with music; the carpet showed the gayest colors, impossible flowers stiffly set upon a sickly yellow-green ground. The walls were adorned with low-priced lithographs in ornate frames, and the chairs were decked with coarse lace squares. Taking this all in at a glance, Persis turned her eyes curiously upon the family.
Mrs. Steuart stood with a welcoming smile upon her good-natured, florid face. By her side was Imogene, who looked “just like a hair-dresser’s dummy,” was Persie’s inward comment. The young woman’s bleached hair was arranged carefully; a light-blue silk waist, spotted and streaked, and trimmed plentifully with soiled lace, adorned her buxom figure, while her skirt was of a cut intended to be fashionable, but so ill-hanging as to show only its pretence. Persis wondered at the strongly marked eyebrows, brilliant color, and white skin. “She uses cosmetics as though she were on the stage,” she told herself, in disgust. “How vulgar her tastes must be!” And she turned to Miss Oriana, who was rather an improvement upon her elder sister, for she allowed her hair to retain its natural color, and her pretty dark eyes did not display a smeary black line under them. She, however, had not given proper attention to her teeth, and showed, as Persis said afterward, “a yawning chasm of darkness when she opened her mouth.” She was attired scarcely less gaudily than her sister, in a frayed cheap silk. Both young women greeted Persis effusively, and in high-pitched nasal tones chattered on unceasingly.
“Bud will be home directly,” said Oriana. “Connie, you ought to see Bud: he has an up-to-date suit. My, but he’s a swell! We’ve been teasing him about you, Miss Holmes, and he’s all in a quiver over your coming. I hope you dance or sing. Bud’s awfully fond of singing. He gets all the new songs, and we have lots of fun when the neighbors come in.”
“Come, girls, help me get in the supper,” interrupted Mrs. Steuart, getting up heavily. She had a ponderous tread, and as she walked from the room the floor of the unsubstantial dwelling trembled beneath her feet.