“I have not come to believe in her yet,” said Harry.
“Seeing is believing,” said Meta; “but no, I won’t take an unfair advantage over her mamma; and she will be fast asleep; I never knew a child sleep as she does. So to go on with our day. The papers come, and Miss Leonora is given over to me; for you must know we are wonderful politicians. Flora studies all the debates till George finds out what he has heard in the House, and baby and I profit. Baby goes out walking, and the post comes. Flora always goes to the study with George, and writes, and does all sorts of things for him. She is the most useful wife in the world. At twelve, we had our singing lesson—”
“Singing lesson!” exclaimed Harry.
“Yes, you know she has a pretty voice, and she is glad to cultivate it. It is very useful at parties, but it takes up a great deal of time, and with all I can do to save her in note-writing, the morning is gone directly. After luncheon, she had to ride with George, and came back in a hurry to make some canvassing calls about the orphan asylum, and Miss Bracy’s sister. If we get her in at all, it will be Flora’s diplomacy. And there was shopping to do, and when we came in hoping for time for our letters, there were the Walkinghames, who stayed a long time, so that Flora could only despatch the most important notes, before George came in and wanted her. She was reading something for him all the time she was dressing, but, as I say, this is quite a quiet day.”
“Stop!” cried Harry, with a gesture of oppression, “it sounds harder than cleaning knives, like Aunt Flora! And what is an unquiet day like?”
“You will see, for we have a great evening party to-morrow.”
“Do you always stay at home?” asked Harry.
“Not always, but I do not go to large parties or balls this year,” said Meta, glancing at her deep mourning; “I am very glad of a little time at home.”
“So you don’t like it.”
“Oh, yes! it is very pleasant,” said Meta. “It is so entertaining when we talk it over afterwards, and I like to hear how Flora is admired, and called the beauty of the season. I tell George, and we do so gloat over it together! There was an old French marquis the other night, a dear old man, quite of the ancien regime, who said she was exactly like the portraits of Madame de Maintenon, and produced a beautiful miniature on a snuff-box, positively like that very pretty form of face of hers. The old man even declared that Mistress Rivers was worthy to be a Frenchwoman.”