"I wish people would begin to call," said Mrs. Fairchild, with an impatient yawn. "I wonder when they will."
"There seems to be visiting enough in the street," said Mr. Fairchild, as he looked out at the window. "There seems no end of Ashfield's company."
"I wish some of them would call here," she replied sorrowfully.
"We are not fine enough for them, I suppose," he answered, half angrily.
"Not fine enough!" she ejaculated with indignant surprise. "We not fine enough! I am sure this is the finest house in the Avenue. And I don't believe there is such furniture in town."
Mr. Fairchild made no reply, but walked the floor impatiently.
"Do you know Mr. Ashfield?" she presently ask.
"Yes," he replied; "I meet him on 'change constantly."
"I wonder, then, why she does not call," she said, indignantly. "It's very rude in her, I am sure. We are the last comers."
And the weeks went on, and Mr. Fairchild without business, and Mrs. Fairchild without gossip, had a very quiet, dull time of it in their fine house.