magination had associated her with that
indefinite social limbo known to the properly-constituted Boston mind as
the South End--a nebulous region which condenses here and there into a
pretty face, in which the daughters are an 'improvement' on the mothers
and are sometimes acquainted with gentlemen resident in more
distinguished districts of the New England capital--gentlemen whose
wives and sisters in turn are not acquainted with them.

When at last Mrs. Nettlepoint came in, accompanied by candles and by a
tray laden with glasses of coloured fluid which emitted a cool tinkling,
I was in a position to officiate as master of the ceremonies, to
introduce Mrs. Mavis and Miss Grace Mavis, to represent that Mrs. Allen
had recommended them--nay, had urged them--to come that way, informally,
and had been prevented only by the pressure of occupations so
characteristic of her (especially when she was up from Mattapoisett just
for a few hours' shopping) from herself calling in the course of the day
to explain who they were and what was the favour they had to ask of Mrs.
Nettlepoint. Good-natured women understand each other even when divided
by the line of topographical fashion, and our hostess had quickly
mastered the main facts: Mrs. Allen's visit in the morning in Merrimac
Avenue to talk of Mrs. Amber's great idea, the classes at the public
schools in vacation (she was interested with an equal charity to that of
Mrs. Mavis--even in such weather!--in those of the South End) for games
and exercises and music, to keep the poor unoccupied children out of the
streets; then the revelation that it had suddenly been settled almost
from one hour to the other that Grace should sail for Liverpool, Mr.
Porterfield at last being ready. He was taking a little holiday; his
mother was with him, they had come over from Paris to see some of the
celebrated old buildings in England, and he had telegraphed to say that
if Grace would start right off they would just finish it up and be
married. It often happened that when things had dragged on that way for
years they were all huddled up at the end. Of course in such a case she,
Mrs. Mavis, had had to fly round. Her daughter's passage was taken, but
it seemed too dreadful that she should make her journey all alone, the
first time she had ever been at sea, without any companion or escort.
_She_ couldn't go--Mr. Mavis was too sick: she hadn't even been able to
get him off to the seaside.

'Well, Mrs. N