“Nobody has called yet,” Ina said.
“We have only been here three weeks,” said Miss Anna Carroll, who was a beautiful woman, and, but for a certain stateliness of carriage, might have seemed but little older than her elder niece.
“Somebody may be calling this afternoon,” said Ina, “and the maid has gone out, and we should not know they called.”
“Oh, let them leave their cards,” said Mrs. Carroll, easily. “That is the only way to receive calls, and make them. If one could only know when people would be out, but not have them know you knew, always—that would be lovely—and if one only knew when they were coming, so one could always be out—that would be lovelier still.” Mrs. Carroll had a disjointed way of speaking when she essayed a long speech, that had almost an infantile effect.
“Amy, how very ungracious of you, dear,” said Miss Anna Carroll. “You know you always love people when you really do meet them.”
“Oh yes,” replied Amy, “I know I love them.”
Meantime, Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Van Dorn were ringing the door-bell of the Carroll house. They rang the bell and waited, and nobody came.
“Did you ring the bell?” asked Mrs. Van Dorn, anxiously.
“I thought I did. I pressed the button very hard.”
“I didn't hear it. I think you had better ring again.”