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Updated: May 5, 2025
The brick tiled hearth remained, and the color of those century and a half old bricks made a pitiful thing of Cerissa's new oil-cloth. The woodwork had been painted by Mrs.
She watched him a moment struggling with a cranky umbrella, and then turned her attention to herself and the room. Mrs. Bogardus made her calls in the morning, and always plainly on business. She had not seen the inside of Cerissa's parlor for ten years. This was a grievance which Cerissa referred to spasmodically, being seized with it when she was otherwise low in her mind. "My sakes!
Something of Cerissa's injured importance survived the transmission of the message, causing Mrs. Bogardus to smile to herself as she rose. Cerissa was waiting in the dining-room. She kept her seat as Mrs. Bogardus entered. Her eyes did not rise higher than the lady's dress, which she examined with a fierce intentness of comparison while she opened her errand.
The Dunlops, as it happened, were childless for the winter, young Chauncey attending a "commercial college" in a neighboring town. After many interviews and a good deal of self-importance on Cerissa's part, the pair were persuaded to close the old house and occupy the servants' wing on the Hill, as a distinct family, yet at hand in case of need.
Bogardus's orders, and much to Cerissa's disgust a dark kitchen green, not that she liked the color herself, but it was the artistic demand of the moment, and the place was filled with a green golden light from the cherry-trees close to the window, which a break in the clouds had suddenly illumined. "You keep it beautifully," said Mrs. Bogardus, her eyes shedding compliments as she looked around.
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