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Updated: June 14, 2025
He was calm enough when he got back to the boarding-house, which he found in as high a pitch of excitement as New Englanders ever reach. And over what? Over the prospective arrival that evening of the Brices, mother and son, from Boston. Miss Crane had received the message in the morning. Palpitating with the news; she had hurried rustling to Mrs. Abner Reed, with the paper in her hand.
He's a soft heart." "Soft as a green quince!" said Mrs. Abner, scornfully. "How many friends has he?" "Those he has are warm enough," Miss Crane retorted. "Look at Colonel Carvel, who has him to dinner every Sunday." "That's plain as your nose, Mirandy Crane. They both like quarrellin' better than anything in this world." "Well," said Miss Crane, "I must go make ready for the Brices."
The Dwyers, the Cartwrights, the Haydens, the Brices, the Ishams, and I know not how many others had sent their tributes, and Honora's second cousins, the Hanburys, from the family mansion behind the stately elms of Wayland Square of which something anon. When Aunt Mary appeared, an hour or so later, Honora was surveying her magnificence in the glass.
If the Brices had created an excitement upon their arrival, it was as nothing to the mad delirium which raged at Miss Crane's boarding-house. during the second afternoon of their stay. Twenty times was Miss Crane on the point of requesting Mrs. Brice to leave, and twenty times, by the advice of Mrs. Abner Deed, she desisted. The culmination came when the news leaked out that Mr.
Eliphalet Hopper, on his return from business, was met on the steps and requested to wear his Sunday clothes. Like the good republican that he was, Mr. Hopper refused. He had ascertained that the golden charm which made the Brices worthy of tribute had been lost. Commercial supremacy, that was Mr. Hopper's creed.
Eliphalet Hopper, on his return from business, was met on the steps and requested to wear his Sunday clothes. Like the good republican that he was, Mr. Hopper refused. He had ascertained that the golden charm which made the Brices worthy of tribute had been lost. Commercial supremacy, that was Mr. Hopper's creed.
One of the Stuarts was a full length of an officer in the buff and blue of the Continental Army. And it was this picture which caught Anne's eye that day. "How like Stephen!" she exclaimed. And added. "Only the face is much older. Who is it, Mrs. Brice?" "Colonel Wilton Brice, Stephen's grandfather. There is a marked look about all the Brices.
And as we went into the house, "I believe my mother is a Whig, Richard. All the Brices are." "And yet you are a Tory?" "I am a loyalist," says my lady, tossing her head proudly; "and we are one day to kiss her Majesty's hand, and tell her so. And if I were the Queen," she finished in a flash, "I would teach you surly gentlemen not to meddle."
He was calm enough when he got back to the boarding-house, which he found in as high a pitch of excitement as New Englanders ever reach. And over what? Over the prospective arrival that evening of the Brices, mother and son, from Boston. Miss Crane had received the message in the morning. Palpitating with the news; she had hurried rustling to Mrs. Abner Reed, with the paper in her hand.
He paused in his pacing up and down, a smile struggling with his serious look. "It was quite a hot-headed business for one of the staid Brices, wasn't it?" "The family has never been called impetuous," replied his mother. "It must be the Western air." He began his pacing again. His mother had not said one word about the money. Neither had he. Once more he stopped before her.
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