B. Do you know anything of her?
Mrs. A. No. They live at such a distance, that there has been but little communication between the two families. Your father met Mr. Haynes in the city a few days ago, and invited him to send his daughter here for a visit. This letter, which he has just received, announces that she will be here to-day.
B. Do you know her name?
Mrs. A. Eunice Haynes.
B. What a wretchedly countrified name! And how unfortunate that she should come just at this time. Next week, you know, we are to have our party, and of course she will have to be present. I have no doubt she is a country gawky, whose conversation will be mostly of “aour caows,” and how much butter and cheese we make.
Mrs. A. No doubt. I wonder that your father should have invited her here until some of us had seen her.
B. As to that, I don’t know how we should ever see her unless she came here. It will be bad enough to receive a visit from her, but it would be still worse for us to visit them. I have no doubt they are genuine rustics, who keep no servants, talk bad grammar, and take their meals in the kitchen.
Mrs. A. Very likely.
B. And then I suppose her dresses will all be calico or gingham, having all the colors of the rainbow. No doubt she will select the gayest of them all for the party. How disgusted I am at the thought of this visit! I wish it were well over.
Mrs. A. So do I. But couldn’t you pass her off as Isabel’s governess?