Annie’s eyes dilated with surprise at this definition of city hospitality, which sounded to her fresh country ears and primitive ideas as somewhat remarkable, but concluding that her cousin was in jest, she smiled as she said,
“Is it usual to fix a time for your friends’ departure as it is for their coming, Kate?”
“No,” answered Kate. “I wish it were. It would not, then, be such a formidable matter to ask them.”
“Are you in earnest?” asked Annie, looking up surprised.
“To be sure I am,” replied Kate. “You don’t know what a bore it is to have a place near the city, Annie, and to have people coming forever, without an idea when they are going.”
“Then why do you ask them at all, if you don’t want them?” inquired Annie.
“Oh, because you must,” said Kate. “Some expect it, to others you owe civilities; and its all very well if the time of their going was only fixed. Two or three days for people you don’t care for, and who don’t care for you, is long enough.”
“Plenty, I should think,” answered Annie, emphatically. “And I should not think, Kate, there was any danger of guests under such circumstances remaining longer.”
“Much you know of it, my dear!” said Kate, in a droll tone of despair. “The less you care for them, and the greater the bores, the longer they stay. But papa and mamma have such old-fashioned notions of hospitality, that they wont adopt this new style of naming the days of the invitation. The Hautons understand the matter better.”
“Come, Annie,” said Kate, the next day, “as we are to breakfast at Woodlawn, we shall have no time to do any thing in the morning, so we may as well pack our trunk now. I suppose you’ll ride out in your gray barège,” she continued, as she opened the wardrobe to take down some of her own and her cousin’s dresses.