The maid came up with two cards: Dr. and Mrs. Ruthven. This was
speedy, and Caroline had to take off her brown holland apron, and
wash her hands, while Emma composed her cap, in haste and not very
good will, for she could not but think them her natural enemies,
though she was ready to beat herself for being so small and nasty
"when they could not help it, poor things."
However, Mrs. Ruthven turned out to be a pleasant lively table d'hote
acquaintance of six or seven years ago in her maiden days, and her
doctor an agreeable Scotsman, who told Mrs. Brownlow that he had been
here on several evenings in former days, and did not seem at all hurt
that she did not remember him. He seemed disappointed that neither
of the young men was at home, and inquired whether they had anything
in view. "Not definitely," she said, and she spoke of some of the
various counsels Dr. Medlicott and others had given them.
In the midst she heard that peculiar dash with which the Fordham
carriage always announced itself. Little Esther might be ever so
much a Viscountess, but could she ever cease to be shy? In spite of
her increasing beauty and grace, she was not a success in society,
for the ladies said she was slow; she had no conversation, and no
dash or rattle to make up for it, and nothing would ever teach her to
like strangers.
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