Domestic fiction; Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Love stories; Washington Square (New York, N.Y.) -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
HE wrote his frank letter to Mrs. Montgomery, who punctually answered it,
mentioning an hour at which he might present himself in the Second
Avenue. She lived in a neat little house of red brick, which had been
freshly painted, with the edges of the bricks very sharply marked out in
white. It has now disappeared, with its companions, to make room for a
row of structures more majestic. There were green shutters upon the
windows, without slats, but pierced with little holes, arranged in
groups; and before the house was a diminutive yard, ornamented with a
bush of mysterious character, and surrounded by a low wooden paling,
painted in the same green as the shutters. The place looked like a
magnified baby-house, and might have been taken down from a shelf in a
toy-shop. Dr. Sloper, when he went to call, said to himself, as he
glanced at the objects I have enumerated, that Mrs. Montgomery was
evidently a thrifty and self-respecting little person—the modest
proportions of her dwelling seemed to indicate that she was of small
stature—who took a virtuous satisfaction in keeping herself tidy, and had
resolved that, since she might not be splendid, she would at least be
immaculate. She received him in a little parlour, which was precisely
the parlour he had expected: a small unspeckled bower, ornamented with a
desultory foliage of tissue-paper, and with clusters of glass drops, amid
which—to carry out the analogy—the temperature of the leafy season was
maintained by means of a cast-iron stove, emitting a dry blue flame, and
smelling strongly of varnish. The walls were embellished with engravings
swathed in pink gauze, and the tables ornamented with volumes of extracts
from the poets, usually bound in black cloth stamped with florid designs
in jaundiced gilt. The Doctor had time to take cognisance of these
details, for Mrs. Montgomery, whose conduct he pronounced under the
circumstances inexcusable, kept him waiting some ten minutes before she
appeared. At last, however, she rustled in, smoothing down a stiff
poplin dress, with a little frightened flush in a gracefully-rounded
cheek.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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