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Updated: June 18, 2025
Sez I, "It makes me feel like death." "It makes me feel," sez Josiah gloomily, "that no knowin' but the Old Harry will git into Ury while we are away." But I sez, "Don't worry, Josiah Ury and Philura are pure gold." "Wall, dum it all, pure gold can be melted if the fire is hot enough."
They were wonderfully alike, the aristocratic old mansion and Miss Philura. Indeed, one could scarcely think of her apart from her familiar background of tall, white pillars, as stately and dignified as herself.
If people of that class want to push themselves in where they are not wanted, and Miss Philura lets them come, that's their affair. But, as I told the girls in the beginning: "'The hand of Douglas is his own, and never shall in friendly grasp The hand of such as the mushroom aristocracy of Bank Street clasp!
For ten summers the ancestral home of the Wickletts had been turned into a boarding-house, but apparently it ignored the change with the same high-born ease of manner that characterised its gentle old mistress. The hospitality it extended to its paying guests was the same with which it welcomed its many visitors in ante-bellum days. And Miss Philura Wicklett was the same.
A stony silence greeted Miss Philura's explanation, for a moment, and then several expostulatory voices asked in chorus, "Oh, Miss Philura! How could you consent to their coming? A common workingman's daughter! We don't want to know her, I'm sure!" There was a touch of hauteur in Miss Philura's manner, that any one should question any act of hers.
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