第50章 PART SECOND(16)

They had to walk up four blocks and then half a block across before they came to the indistinctive brownstone house where the Dryfooses lived.

It was larger than some in the same block,but the next neighborhood of a huge apartment-house dwarfed it again.March thought he recognized the very flat in which he had disciplined the surly janitor,but he did not tell his wife;he made her notice the transition character of the street,which had been mostly built up in apartment-houses,with here and there a single dwelling dropped far down beneath and beside them,to that jag-toothed effect on the sky-line so often observable in such New York streets."I don't know exactly what the old gentleman bought here for,"he said,as they waited on the steps after ringing,"unless he expects to turn it into flats by-and-by.Otherwise,I don't believe he'll get his money back."An Irish serving-man,with a certain surprise that delayed him,said the ladies were at home,and let the Marches in,and then carried their cards up-stairs.The drawing-room,where he said they could sit down while he went on this errand,was delicately,decorated in white and gold,and furnished with a sort of extravagant good taste;there was nothing to object to in the satin furniture,the pale,soft,rich carpet,the pictures,and the bronze and china bric-a-brac,except that their costliness was too evident;everything in the room meant money too plainly,and too much of it.The Marches recognized this in the hoarse whispers which people cannot get their voices above when they try to talk away the interval of waiting in such circumstances;they conjectured from what they had heard of the Dryfooses that this tasteful luxury in no wise expressed their civilization."Though when you come to that,"said March,"I don't know that Mrs.Green's gimcrackery expresses ours.""Well,Basil,I didn't take the gimcrackery.That was your--"The rustle of skirts on the stairs without arrested Mrs.March in the well-merited punishment which she never failed to inflict upon her husband when the question of the gimcrackery--they always called it that--came up.She rose at the entrance of a bright-looking,pretty-looking,mature,youngish lady,in black silk of a neutral implication,who put out her hand to her,and said,with a very cheery,very ladylike accent,"Mrs.March?"and then added to both of them,while she shook hands with March,and before they could get the name out of their months:"No,not Miss Dryfoos!Neither of them;nor Mrs.Dryfoos.Mrs.Mandel.The ladies will be down in a moment.Won't you throw off your sacque,Mrs.

March?I'm afraid it's rather warm here,coming from the outside.""I will throw it back,if you'll allow me,"said Mrs.March,with a sort of provisionality,as if,pending some uncertainty as to Mrs.Mandel's quality and authority,she did not feel herself justified in going further.

But if she did not know about Mrs.Mandel,Mrs.Mandel seemed to know about her."Oh,well,do!"she said,with a sort of recognition of the propriety of her caution."I hope you are feeling a little at home in New York.We heard so much of your trouble in getting a flat,from Mr.

Fulkerson."

"Well,a true Bostonian doesn't give up quite so soon,"said Mrs.March.

"But I will say New York doesn't seem so far away,now we're here.""I'm sure you'll like it.Every one does."Mrs.Mandel added to March,"It's very sharp out,isn't it?""Rather sharp.But after our Boston winters I don't know but I ought to repudiate the word.""Ah,wait till you have been here through March!"said Mrs.Mandel.She began with him,but skillfully transferred the close of her remark,and the little smile of menace that went with it,to his wife.

"Yes,"said Mrs.March,"or April,either:Talk about our east winds!""Oh,I'm sure they can't be worse than our winds,"Mrs.Mandel returned,caressingly.

"If we escape New York pneumonia,"March laughed,"it will only be to fall a prey to New York malaria as soon as the frost is out of the ground.""Oh,but you know,"said Mrs.Mandel,"I think our malaria has really been slandered a little.It's more a matter of drainage--of plumbing.

I don't believe it would be possible for malaria to get into this house,we've had it gone over so thoroughly."Mrs.March said,while she tried to divine Mrs.Mandel's position from this statement,"It's certainly the first duty.""If Mrs.March could have had her way,we should have had the drainage of our whole ward put in order,"said her husband,"before we ventured to take a furnished apartment for the winter."Mrs.Mandel looked discreetly at Mrs.March for permission to laugh at this,but at the same moment both ladies became preoccupied with a second rustling on the stairs.

Two tall,well-dressed young girls came in,and Mrs.Mandel introduced,"Miss Dryfoos,Mrs.March;and Miss Mela Dryfoos,Mr.March,"she added,and the girls shook hands in their several ways with the Marches.

Miss Dryfoos had keen black eyes,and her hair was intensely black.Her face,but for the slight inward curve of the nose,was regular,and the smallness of her nose and of her mouth did not weaken her face,but gave it a curious effect of fierceness,of challenge.She had a large black fan in her hand,which she waved in talking,with a slow,watchful nervousness.Her sister was blonde,and had a profile like her brother's;but her chin was not so salient,and the weak look of the mouth was not corrected by the spirituality or the fervor of his eyes,though hers were of the same mottled blue.She dropped into the low seat beside Mrs.Mandel,and intertwined her fingers with those of the hand which Mrs.Mandel let her have.She smiled upon the Marches,while Miss Dryfoos watched them intensely,with her eyes first on one and then on the other,as if she did not mean to let any expression of theirs escape her.

"My mother will be down in a minute,"she said to Mrs.March.