"There is such a person, then?"
"Why, George, what do you mean? Of course there is, and she was just as nice to me as she could be."
"'How well it's done!' she said to him."
"Why shouldn't she have been? I see you call her Cecilia. Are you as intimate as that?"
"Everybody calls her Cecilia. See, Mrs. Atwater is trying to catch your eye."
A tall and rather stately woman of thirty-five was standing in the doorway; she seemed finished—in profile, figure, and carriage. "How well it's done," she said to him; "who is the presiding genius?"
"My wife's mother, I fancy." He turned and drew her attention to the rustling of Mrs. Bradley's black silk.
"Ah!" she said indifferently, and turned away.