“Was it pleasant?” said that sympathetic lady.
“It was one of those dreadfully dark dining-rooms,” said Hope, seating herself at the open window.
“Why do they make them look so like tombs?” said Kate.
“Because,” said her aunt, “most Americans pass from them to the tomb, after eating such indigestible things. There is a wish for a gentle transition.”
“Aunt Jane,” said Hope, “Mrs. Meredith asks to have a little visit from Emilia. Do you think she had better go?”
“Mrs. Meredith?” asked Aunt Jane. “Is that woman alive yet?”
“Why, auntie!” said Kate. “We were talking about her only a week ago.”
“Perhaps so,” conceded Aunt Jane, reluctantly. “But it seems to me she has great length of days!”
“How very improperly you are talking, dear!” said Kate. “She is not more than forty, and you are—”
“Fifty-four,” interrupted the other.