If they
took up less room than the women they certainly were more decorative.
Dr. Talbot and his wife had not arrived. To all eager questions Mrs.
McLane merely replied that "they" would "be here." She had the
dramatic instinct of the true leader and had commanded the doctor not
to bring his bride before four o'clock. The reception began at three.
They should have an entrance. But Mrs. Abbott, a lady of three chins
and an eagle eye, who had clung for twenty-five years to black satin
and bugles, was too persistent to be denied. She extracted the
information that the Bostonian had sent her own furniture by a
previous steamer and that her drawing room was graceful, French, and
exquisite.
At ten minutes after the hour the buzz and chatter stopped abruptly
and every face was turned, every neck craned toward the door. The
colored butler had announced with a grand flourish:
"Dr. and Mrs. Talbot."
The doctor looked as rubicund, as jovial, as cynical as ever. But
few cast him more than a passing glance. Then they gave an audible
gasp, induced by an ingenuous compound of amazement, disappointment,
and admiration. They had been prepared to forgive, to endure, to make
every allowance. The poor thing could no more help being plain and
dowdy than born in Boston, and as their leader had satisfied herself
that she "would do," they would never let her know how deeply they
deplored her disabilities.
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