More than all, here she was, in deference to her husband’s wishes, performing the unheard-of act of condescension of calling on the wife of one of his clerks.
“People, they say,” she confided to one of her female admirers, “who have seen better days. A thing I specially dislike.” Which was repeated as one of her bons mots through her social circle; for—really I was forgetting the very funniest thing about this little woman—she, without one spark of imagination, without one touch of humour in herself or power of appreciating it in others, had yet acquired in the small world in which she moved, a considerable reputation as a wit!
This was the lady who sailed majestically into Mrs. Baldwin’s little sitting-room.
Marion, whose height exceeded that of the average of women, rose to greet her, feeling, as sensitive people are apt to do when forced into such contrast, uncomfortably taller than usual. But this sensation was speedily succeeded by its equally unpleasant opposite, for seldom in her life had Mrs. Baldwin felt herself, metaphorically speaking, smaller, than when her little visitor extended her tightly gloved hand with a species of condescending wave, and addressing her in what was intended to be a reassuring tone, begged her to reseat herself and not to “put herself out” on her, Mrs. Baxter’s, account.
Almost before she knew what she was about Marion found herself waved into a seat, while Mrs. Baxter proceeded calmly to ensconce herself in the most luxurious of the not very tempting chairs of the little sitting-room.
Then the great little lady proceeded to enter into conversation, by remarking that she hoped Mrs. Baldwin liked Millington.
“Oh yes,” replied Marion, “we like it very well. Of course it takes some time to feel at home in a perfectly strange place.”
“I daresay you find it very different from living, in the country,” observed Mrs. Baxter with an accent of superb scorn on the last word. “For my part I can’t abide the country. People grow so stupid and old-fashioned compared to what they are in town. Mr. Baxter talks sometimes of buying a country-place, but I always tell him I really couldn’t do at all without my six months at least in town.”
Marion felt slightly puzzled as to the exact sense in which her visitor was making use of the last word.
“Then do you at present spend half the year in town?” she asked cautiously.