Harold Smith was
conversing with her friend, quite in the old way. She made some
remark on each of the guests as they passed by, and apparently did
so in a manner satisfactory to the owner of the house, for Miss
Dunstable answered with her kindest smiles, and in that genial, happy
tone of voice which gave its peculiar character to her good humour:
"She is quite convinced that you are a mere plagiarist in what you
are doing," said Mrs. Harold Smith, speaking of Mrs. Proudie.
"And so I am. I don't suppose there can be anything very original
nowadays about an evening party."
"But she thinks you are copying her."
"And why not? I copy everybody that I see, more or less. You did not
at first begin to wear big petticoats out of your own head? If Mrs.
Proudie has any such pride as that, pray don't rob her of it. Here's
the doctor and the Greshams. Mary, my darling, how are you?" and in
spite of all her grandeur of apparel, Miss Dunstable took hold of
Mrs. Gresham and kissed her--to the disgust of the dozen and a half
of the distinguished fashionable world who were passing up the stairs
behind. The doctor was somewhat repressed in his mode of address
by the communication which had so lately been made to him. Miss
Dunstable was now standing on the very top of the pinnacle of wealth,
and seemed to him to be not only so much above his reach, but also so
far removed from his track in life, that he could not in any way put
himself on a level with her.
Pages:
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515