“Yes; I have some calls to make—no very important ones to be sure; I intend dining out to Mrs. Hill’s place at Summerfield. But as I think it a duty to assist in putting down the pride of such people, I wish to go with some eeclaw, and will take Pushaw with me, to show off his handsome suit. Some of my friends told me it was folly in me to put myself to the trouble of calling, but I wish them to see how mistaken they were, poor things! when they took upon themselves to treat us with so much indifference when we were neighbors. The Hills are of no earthly use, everybody knows that! and I vow and declare that I saw Mrs. Hill wear that shine silk of hers two winters ago. I really must ask some of her acquaintances; it is worth while to ascertain it. I suppose I must go alone, for I could not ask any one to be charitable enough to go with me; and after this, I mean to cut the Seymour and Hill clique most decidedly.” Mrs. Jones took breath, and laughed at her own wit as though she relished it; and well she might, for the idea of her being able to “cut people” was a very funny one to be sure. “Hill is doing a bad business this winter,” said her husband, buttoning his coat, and straightening himself before the glass. “He’ll be ‘done up’ at the end of it, I’ll wager any thing, for he sold his beautiful horse a short time since, and a man must be in a poor way to part with such an animal as that is. Sinclair bought him, and hardly knows how to ride.” “Well, I’m sure _I_ don’t care, for one,” remarked Mrs. Jones, with great elegance of manner and tone, as she threw over her shoulders a Brussels cape that had been sent up by her modiste for her inspection. “This is splendid, I declare! I’m glad Mrs. Puff thought of sending this; it is exactly like one Mrs. Macfuss wore at the Ford’s fine dinner, and so it must be the fashion. As I was saying, Mr. Jones, the Hills were rather high with me last summer; I never could get them to come over and be intimate. Now there’s Marian Fawney, as sweet a girl as ever lived, I had only to tell her once, and we’ve been like sisters ever since.” “Yes; a little _too_ intimate for my good,” said Mr. Jones, as he thought of the constant visits of all Miss Fawney’s family. “It may all be very fine for you, Sally, and she may be a very good girl, but I think she loves rich folks, and no others.” “Well, and who don’t?” replied his wife, who felt herself subject to a similar weakness. “Besides, Mr. Jones, her acquaintance has been an advantage, consider that! I have no doubt but that through her influence we shall have Mrs. Macfuss in our house before the season is out.” “D—n Mrs. Macfuss!” exclaimed Mr. Jones, forgetting Chesterfield in his indignation at the heart-aches she had given him and his helpmate. “You expect the Saxons, too, I suppose! For they are as proud as the others, and as grand in their notions.”