"Oh!" Mrs. Sharpe's tone was shriller yet. "I've come here to be instructed, have I? By two old maids, too, who have never had any encouragement that I know of to change their state! This is what I get by coming out of my way to wish you joy on your birthday! a precious day it is! so important to everybody! One sure thing, you've had enough of 'em, te hee! I guess my run-in will be a run-off, though you are so pleasant and hospitable, I'm sure!"
"Do not darken these doors again!" said Miss Pearl.
"Do not speak to me in the street!" said Miss Ruby. "The acquaintance is at an end!"
"I thank you for the favor!" the visitor flung back over her departing shoulder. "Of course it's been a great privilege to come traipsing out here to the other end of nowhere, but it's one I can dispense with, if I try hard; and as for speaking to two poor mildewed little old maids that stick to their jobs like seaweed to a rock, and that's kept there out of pity—out of pity!——"
The sound of the closing door checked her flow of eloquence; she departed.
This is the true story of the quarrel between the Misses Caddie, "two ladies as highly respected in our midst for their ability and discretion as beloved for their many endearing social qualities," as Mr. Jordano took occasion to say in the next Centinel, and one who from this time on was commonly spoken of as "that mean Sophia Sharpe!"
But the deed was done. Before morning all Cyrus knew that Kitty Ross was about to receive a visit from an English Nobleman, and that: A, he expected to be met by a coach and six horses, or, B, that his arrival by such conveyance was to be anticipated.
Before considering the effect of this news upon Cyrus, let us glance for a moment into Madam Flynt's parlor on the evening of the day just past. Madam Flynt was receiving a visitor; alone, Miss Croly having gone for the quiet stroll which was her delight on summer evenings. "With Nature!" the good lady would explain. "I love to stroll hand in hand with Nature: so vast, yet so benignant, in her gentler aspects." She recited poetry as she strolled, finding it most beneficial.
Madam Flynt's visitor stood by the door, declining a proffered seat; an apron thrown over her head announced in some subtle way that her visit was one of urgency; she spoke in low, emphatic tones.
"No'm! no! she wasn't feverish that I could see; I couldn't feel her pult, but her skin felt natural. She acted more like she was out of her mind. I thought I'd step over!"