"How foolish you are, Jane! I've wore darned stockin's all my life. A few darns don't hurt one way or another. What becomes of my stockin's? I saw a hole in one the other day."
Jeanne looked a little embarrassed.
"Why—why—when they become not convenable for Madame, I—I take them."
"Oh," said shrewd Drusilla, looking at Jeanne over her glasses. "And I presume you are the judge of when they become 'convenable'—whatever that means. But you'd better let me tell you when I think they're ready to be passed on."
Drusilla sat back in the chair with folded hands for a few moments; then she looked down at them as they lay idly in her lap.
"I don't see what I'm goin' to do with my hands. I've always had a work-basket by my side whenever I set down, and now you just expect me to set. Well, I'm tired of it; I want to do something."
A few of the neighbors, headed by Mrs. Thornton, the typical New York woman devoted to "society," made calls upon Drusilla; and when the first caller's card was brought to Drusilla, she went into the drawing-room and greeted the stylishly dressed lady who rose to meet her, wondering why she had come. The lady sat down and talked to Drusilla about the weather, asked how she liked Brookvale, spoke of the opera season and of a new singer, asked her if she cared for symphonies, which Drusilla thought at first was something to eat, mentioned a ball that was being given at Sherry's that night for charity; and then departed, leaving Drusilla still wondering why she came. Evidently she told her friends of her visit, as many came, some from curiosity and others from real kindliness and desire to be friendly with their newest neighbor.
One day Daphne saw the cards.
"Oh," she said, "has Mrs. Druer called, and Mrs. Cairns, and Mrs. Freeman. I am so glad. You must return the call."
"Is that a call? What did they come for? I been wondering about it ever since they come."