gle 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,