It seemed a long ride through the crowded city streets before the carriage at last drew up before the door of a plain, dull-looking, three-story brick house.
Mrs. Ponsonby—without waiting for the coachman to get off his box, for, indeed, Patrick was so indolent that he always made an excuse that he “darn’t” leave his horses to open the door—alighted, and assisted Lilith to alight, and led her up to the house and rang the door bell.
A female servant answered it.
“Is Mrs. Downie at home?” inquired the elder lady.
“Yes, ma’am,” replied the waitress, opening a door on the right, and showing the two ladies into the long but plainly furnished parlor, where they sat down.
“Will you tell Mrs. Downie that I would like to see her on business for a moment?”
“Yes, ma’am. What name?”
The lady handed the waitress a card.
“Mrs. Downie is at tea now, but I dare say she will not be long,” said the girl, as she left the parlor and ran down the basement stairs.
In a very few minutes the mistress of the boarding-house came up, with a warm, exuberant welcome for an old friend. She was a short, fat, good-natured looking woman, of about Mrs. Ponsonby’s own age, and she was dressed in a clean but rather dowdy black gown, all in keeping with her general aspect of careless good humor; and her pretty, soft, silvery gray hair was gathered into a knot behind, and as much disheveled all over her head by nature as it could have been done by the most fashionable hairdresser.