A stately bend from the elder—a low "many thanks"—a good night—and the visit was over.
"Is it possible," thought Emily, "a visit in London could be so dull?"
The next morning was more amusing—visitor after visitor came in; for Lady Alicia, like most indolent people, preferred any one else's company to her own,—all could entertain her better than she could entertain herself. An elderly gentleman had gone off with a cough, and a lady of no particular age with a prophecy.
"Well, take my word for it, those girls will never marry; marriage is like money—seem to want it, and you never get it."
The Cassandra was scarcely departed, when the objects of her oracle appeared—Mrs. Fergusson and her two daughters. Nothing could he more correct than the externals of these young ladies—large curls, large sleeves, still larger bonnets, words like the poet's idea of adieu, or the advice to make good children—"to be seen, not heard,"—and faces indicative elegant indifference.
Mr. Fergusson had made his fortune, and Mrs. F. now meant to make her way in the world; her society was to be refined and exalted;
