Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Family -- England -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
There was no gas in the room, so that Betty was obliged to do her simple
dressing for dinner by the aid of a candle, whose flickering beams
seemed intent on lighting every corner of the room, and leaving the
mirror in inky darkness. It was only within the last three months that
Dr Trevor had left his old-fashioned house in Bloomsbury, hoping that
the change of residence would help him in his ambition to extend his
practice among a better class of patients. The neighbourhood was new to
his family, and none of the residents of the Square had so far taken any
notice of their presence. Calling is not usual in London unless there
is some personal interest involved, and no doubt the occupants of more
aristocratic houses looked down with contempt on the sandwiched row of
shabby windows which belonged to them only on sufferance. If the
neighbours showed no interest in the doctor's family, the Trevors, on
the contrary, felt a devouring interest in everyone around them. They
had invented nicknames for all the residents in the northern row, of
which the schoolroom possessed the best view, before they had been a
week in their new quarters. A glance at the Directory in their father's
consulting-room would have solved the problem at once, but that was a
practical and commonplace method of procedure which made no appeal to
their imaginations. Nicknames were a thousand times better, because you
could manufacture them to suit!
The two old maiden ladies who lived in Number 15 were Emily and Hannah.
Emily was dressy, wore a false front, and always took precedence of her
sister, who was small and mousy in demeanour. It was apparent to the
meanest intellect that a godmother had bequeathed her fortune to Emily,
and that she gave her sister a home and generally supported her, for
which generosity Hannah was duly thankful. The two old ladies
breakfasted in bed every morning, went out for drives at eleven and
three o'clock, ("ambles," Miles called them in scornful reference to the
pace of the sleek old horses), retired to their rooms for naps after
lunch, ate a hearty dinner at eight, and settled down for the night at
ten o'clock.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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