“Who would think that Rebecca Forbush would come to live like this?” she said, half to herself.
“And that boy,” supplemented Alonzo.
“To be sure! Your uncle is fairly infatuated.”
Just then Mrs. Forbush entered, followed by her daughter. She was no longer clad in a shabby dress, but wore an elegant toilet, handsome beyond her own wishes, but insisted upon by Uncle Oliver.
“I am glad to see you, Lavinia,” she said simply. “This is my daughter.”
Julia, too, was stylishly dressed, and Alonzo, in spite of his prejudices, could not help regarding this handsome cousin with favor.
I do not propose to detail the interview. Mrs. Pitkin was on her good behavior, and appeared very gracious.
Mrs. Forbush could not help recalling the difference between her demeanor now and on the recent occasion, when in her shabby dress she called at the house in Twelfth Street, but she was too generous to recall it.
As they were about to leave, Mr. Carter and Philip entered the room, sent for by Mrs. Forbush.
“How do you do, Philip?” said Mrs. Pitkin, graciously. “Alonzo, this is Philip.”