Everybody forgave the sisters their touch of pride since both its source and outcome were of such purity, but it was almost pathetic to hear their personal disavowal of merit, attributing all things of worth in their admirable womanhood to their ancestry, and when, in the days of her children’s youth, Mrs. Mountain found it necessary to chastise them, the rod was considered far less severe than a reminder that through misdemeanor they were sullying the family record.
It was a matter of deep regret to both Honora and Letitia that they had no sons. The former was childless, and the latter had buried her boys in infancy, but it was a consolation that the marriage of their brother, late in life, had resulted in securing a continuance of the honored line.
Hospitality was one of the inherited virtues. The fruit cake jar was never allowed to become empty, and on such holidays as were not bespoken by their brother, their separate tables were surrounded by the impecunious old and young of their acquaintance.
So long as Mrs. Mountain’s daughters remained unmarried there was an abundance of merrymaking, but after they had gone to homes of their own this youthful element was greatly missed. Mrs. Plum’s stepdaughter was too grim to be social, and gradually the lives of the sisters fell into a routine.
Certain days in the month were devoted to family visits. The rector was entertained by them alternately, at stated periods, and once every fortnight they dressed themselves in stiff silks and real laces, and went through the formality of returning calls. No doubt the conversation was as little varied as the wardrobe, yet it was a pleasing duty, faithfully performed.
They had been educated like the majority of well-to-do women of that period, but this was far from developing a love of study—that progressive intelligence which furnishes the ladies of the present with unfailing entertainment.
Nothing, therefore, was a greater satisfaction to them than the daily visits of an old and respected colonel, living on a large farm just beyond the border of the town.
He rode to the post office every morning on a white horse, quite as stiff in his joints as his master, and it was one of the duties of the postman to respond to the timely cough of the colonel by carrying out the scanty mail, if such there chanced to be. The soldierly salutation repaid him a hundred-fold for this small attention, while the colonel turned his horse toward Mountain Place.
He was so prompt in all his proceedings that the servant prepared herself, at ten o’clock, to answer the summons of the enormous brass knocker, and with as much dignity as if he had come with a message of state, the ruddy man inquired for “the ladies.” Then, as he entered the hall, he graciously relieved any embarrassment by mentioning “Mrs. Mountain’s parlor, if you please,” or “Mrs. Plum’s drawing room,” alternating day by day. Immediately the lady presiding arose and greeted him as though he was recently returned from a foreign mission, and in the next breath spoke to the servant, who had long ago learned to await this direction: “Ask Mrs. Plum if it will be convenient to come down, Colonel Gray is here,” or “My compliments to Mrs. Mountain.”
The newcomer then formally welcomed the second sister, carefully asked after her health, and conversation became general.