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Updated: May 23, 2025
"Well, he will presently," Miss Brent rejoined, ignoring the slight stress on the name. Mrs. Dressel continued to brood on her maternally. "Justine I wish you'd tell me! You say you hate the life you're leading now but isn't there somebody who might ?" "Give me another, with lace dresses in it?"
"But then we're not strangers!" a voice in her exulted, just as he added, with an embarrassed attempt to efface and yet justify his moment of expansion: "That reminds me I think you know my wife. I heard her asking Mrs. Dressel about you. She wants so much to see you."
"It seems to make it if it's so transparent less of a sham, less of a dishonesty," she began impulsively, and then paused again, a little annoyed at the overemphasis of her words. Why was she explaining and excusing herself to this stranger? Did she propose to tell him next that she had borrowed her dress from Effie Dressel?
Dressel, behind her friend's back, was quickly reassured by the thought that Justine was only a hospital nurse, who had to work for her living, and had really never "been anywhere"; but when Miss Brent's verbal arrows were flying, it seemed somehow of more immediate consequence that she was fairly well-connected, and lived in New York.
All her friendships were the result of propinquity or of early association, and fate had held her imprisoned in a circle of well-to-do mediocrity, peopled by just such figures as those of the kindly and prosperous Dressels. Effie Dressel, the daughter of a cousin of Mrs.
"I think she said in Oak Street but she didn't mention any name." Mrs. Amherst wrinkled her brows thoughtfully. "I wonder if she's not the thin dark girl I saw the other day with Mrs. Harry Dressel. Was she tall and rather handsome?" "I don't know," murmured Amherst indifferently.
"I had not thought of it in that light but it's really of no consequence how one looks at a thing that is not going to happen," she said carelessly. "No naturally; I see you were only joking. He's so devoted to Cicely, isn't he?" Mrs. Dressel rejoined, with her bright obtuseness. A step on the threshold announced Amherst's approach.
Dressel that her parables were dark, and the blank look in Bessy's eyes soon snatched her down from the height of metaphor. "I mean," she continued with a smile, "that, as human nature is constituted, it has got to find its real self the self to be interested in outside of what we conventionally call 'self': the particular Justine or Bessy who is clamouring for her particular morsel of life.
"Oh, I understand his feeling; but when he begins to entertain and you know poor Bessy always hated this furniture." Mrs. Amherst smiled slightly. Mrs. Dressel dropped the hands with which she was absent-mindedly assuring herself of the continuance of unbroken relations between her hat and her hair. "Marries again? Why you don't mean ? He doesn't think of it?"
One of the girls used to say she ought to wear a tag, because she was so easily mislaid Now then, I'm ready!" Justine advanced to the door, and Mrs. Dressel followed her downstairs, reflecting with pardonable complacency that one of the disadvantages of being clever was that it tempted one to say sarcastic things of other women than which she could imagine no more crying social error.
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