Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Mothers and daughters -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
And now, last of all, comes Mrs. Tiffe, the housekeeper, a dignified,
energetic woman of fifty, who wore black silk every day, with pink
ribbons in her cap, and who, after several hard-fought battles with Miss
Rossiter for the supremacy, had come off victorious, and reigned
triumphant at Schuyler Hill, where she feared no one save the colonel
himself, and liked no one but Godfrey. He was her idol, and he alone
could unlock the mysterious closet under the stairs, and call forth jam,
and jelly, and even marmalade, if he liked. Such lunches as she gave the
ladies when they were alone, and Godfrey not there to coax, or the
colonel to insist! A chicken wing and back, with a slice of bread and
butter, and possibly a baked apple, if there chanced to be any “standing
round” in danger of spoiling; while her breakfasts were delicate and
dainty enough for a fairy, or the worst form which dyspepsia ever
assumed. “Frugal repasts,” Godfrey called them; but for their frugality
Mrs. Tiffe made amends at dinner, which was served with great profusion,
and all the elegance the house could command. Nothing was too nice for
dinner; and Mrs. Tiffe, felt her heart swell with pride when she saw her
ladies, handsomely dressed, filing into the spacious dining-room, where
the table was bright with silver and flowers. To her the Schuylers and
Rossiters represented the world, and anybody outside that world, unless
it were Miss Creighton, was looked upon with disgust, and barely
tolerated. Miss Christine, it is true, was not a favorite, but she was a
Rossiter, and Mrs. Tiffe charged all her faults to the fact that “she
was an old maid, and couldn’t help being queer,” and so endured her
quietly when her own wishes were not opposed.
And this was the household into which the news of Col. Schuyler’s second
marriage fell like a bombshell in the enemy’s camp, wounding each one,
and wringing from each one a cry according to her disposition. But for a
description of this I must take a fresh sheet and begin another chapter.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE NEWS AT SCHUYLER HILL.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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