Mrs. Corey was saying
exactly the right things about her son's interest and satisfaction in
his new business, and keeping her eyes fixed on Mrs. Lapham's, reading
her uneasiness there, and making her feel, in spite of her indignant
innocence, that she had taken a base advantage of her in her absence to
get her son away from her and marry him to Irene. Then, presently,
while this was painfully revolving itself in Mrs. Lapham's mind, she
was aware of Mrs. Corey's asking if she was not to have the pleasure of
seeing Miss Irene.

"No; she's out, just now," said Mrs. Lapham. "I don't know just when
she'll be in. She went to get a book." And here she turned red again,
knowing that Irene had gone to get the book because it was one that
Corey had spoken of.

"Oh! I'm sorry," said Mrs. Corey. "I had hoped to see her. And your
other daughter, whom I never met?"

"Penelope?" asked Mrs. Lapham, eased a little. "She is at home. I
will go and call her." The Laphams had not yet thought of spending
their superfluity on servants who could be rung for; they kept two
girls and a man to look after the furnace, as they had for the last ten
years. If Mrs. Lapham had rung in the parlour, her second girl would
have gone to the street door to see who was there. She went upstairs
for Penelope herself, and the girl, after some rebellious derision,
returned with her.

Mrs. Corey took account of her, as Penelope withdrew to the other side
of the room after their introduction, and sat down, indolently
submissive on the surface to the tests to be applied, and following
Mrs. Corey's lead of the conversation in her odd drawl.

"You young ladies will be glad to be getting into your new house," she
said politely.

"I don't know," said Penelope. "We're so used to this one."

Mrs. Corey looked a little baffled, but she said sympathetically, "Of
course, you will be sorry to leave your old home."

Mrs. Lapham could not help putting in on behalf of her daughters: "I
guess if it was left to the girls to say, we shouldn't leave it at all."

"Oh, indeed!" said Mrs. Corey; "are they so much attached? But I can
quite understand it. My children would be heart-broken too if we were
to leave the old place." She turned to Penelope. "But you must think
of the lovely new house, and the beautiful position."

"Yes, I suppose we shall get used to them too," said Penelope, in
response to this didactic consolation.

"Oh, I could even imagine your