Dolores by Ivy Compton-Burnett Page A

door. The Reverend Cleveland rose without pause, and stood with his eyes on the floor, frankly awaiting his wife’s movement for departure. When this was made, he shook hands in silence with his fellow-guests, showing Mrs Cassell and Mrs Merton-Vane some courtliness, and Dr Cassell and Mr Billing some coldness. He then observed to Mrs Blackwood, “We have to thank you for an exceedingly pleasant evening”; and took up his stand near the door, in waiting for the ladies of his family to precede him from the room. Mrs Blackwood escorted her sister and Dolores upstairs; leaving Dr Cassell to enlightenment of Mr Billing, whose attitude did not henceforth waver from the gratefully receptive; and a sisterly talk enlivened the assumption of wrappings.
    â€œSo Cleveland and Bertram are going to walk on, dear,” said Mrs Blackwood.
    â€œYes, dear,” said Mrs Hutton. “They leavethe trap to us feminine creatures. It does not hold more than two.”
    â€œWhen we lived at Hallington,” said Mrs Blackwood, “we had a trap that only had room for one besides the man; and when Herbert and I went out, he used to wait to put me into it before he started himself. He used to say he felt so worried, when he thought of me clambering into it alone in the dark.”
    â€œOh, that was such a dangerous trap,” said Mrs Hutton. “It really was hardly safe.”
    â€œOh, no, dear,” said Mrs Blackwood; “it could not have been safer; it was only Herbert’s nervousness about me.”
    â€œAh, those were your early married days,” said Mrs Hutton, adjusting her hood before the glass.
    â€œOh, but Herbert has not altered in the least since then,” said Mrs Blackwood, her voice becoming a little higher pitched. “He fidgets so about me, that sometimes in company he makes me feel quite foolish.”
    Mrs Hutton pulled out her strings without sign of accepting this statement; and Mrs Blackwood felt urged to its elaboration.
    â€œI always think it is such a wrong theory that husbands are different after they are married. I think that as they begin, so they go on. You see Herbert worries about me just as much as ever; and Cleveland never has beenanxious about you, has he? He does not let things like that disturb him.”
    â€œMy dear Carrie, it is rather absurd to talk about
Herbert’s
being worried,” said Mrs Hutton. “I do not remember seeing him worried in his life.”
    â€œOh, you do not understand him, dear,” said Mrs Blackwood. “He does not show his feelings on the surface. I often think what a sad thing it would have been for him, if he had married some one who did not believe in anything that was not under her eyes. I am so thankful that we were brought together.”
    â€œThankfulness on that point is a needless self-exaction, dear,” said Mrs Hutton. “As you were cousins, special providential arrangements to bring you together were not required.”
    â€œMy dear, our grandparents were second cousins,” said Mrs Blackwood. “People connected in that degree very often never meet. I always feel that Herbert and I were given to each other.”
    â€œI remember you so well when you were engaged,” said Mrs Hutton, with a little laugh.
    â€œI remember it too,” said Mrs Blackwood; “and how I used to pity you, for having no chance of getting married, though you were the elder sister. Girls are so amusing in the way they look at things.”
    â€œI never can understand how women canmarry boys,” said Mrs Hutton, surveying her reflection in the mirror.
    â€œMy dear, when a woman marries as young as I did, she naturally marries a young man,” said Mrs Blackwood. “Of course a man is getting on in years when he has one life behind him.”
    â€œI meant I could not understand a woman’s accepting a man younger than herself,” said Mrs Hutton; “as though she would secure a