Of course she had read him.
There was Teufelsdroeck--she quite well remembered a tailor called
Teufelsdroeck. So like Carlyle to call him that. Yes, she must have
read him, though naturally details escaped her.
The gong sounded. Lost in reminiscence Mrs. Fisher had forgotten
time, and hastened to her bedroom to wash her hands and smoothe her
hair. She did not wish to be late and set a bad example, and perhaps
find her seat at the head of the table taken. One could put no trust
in the manners of the younger generation; especially not in those of
that Mrs. Wilkins.
She was, however, the first to arrive in the dining-room.
Francesca in a white apron stood ready with an enormous dish of smoking
hot, glistening macaroni, but nobody was there to eat it.
Mrs. Fisher sat down, looking stern. Lax, lax.
"Serve me," she said to Francesca, who showed a disposition to
wait for the others.
Francesca served her. Of the party she liked Mrs. Fisher least,
in fact she did not like her at all. She was the only one of the four
ladies who had not yet smiled. True she was old, true she was
unbeautiful, true she therefore had no reason to smile, but kind ladies
smiled, reason or no. They smiled, not because they were happy but
because they wished to make happy.
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