"Is this the house?" said one of two ladies, pausing before Ruth's
lodgings.
"I suppose so," replied the other lady; "they said it was No. 50 ----
street, but it can't be, either; Ruth Hall couldn't live in such a place
as this. Just look at that red-faced Irish girl leaning out the front
window on her elbows, and see those vulgar red bar-room curtains; I
declare, Mary, if Ruth Hall has got down hill so far as this, _I_ can't
keep up her acquaintance; just see how they stare at us here! if you
choose to call you may--faugh! just smell that odor of cabbage issuing
from the first entry. Come, come, Mary, take your hand off the knocker;
I wouldn't be seen in that vulgar house for a kingdom."
"It seems _heartless_, though," said the other lady, blushing slightly,
as she gathered up her six flounces in her delicately gloved-hand; "do
you remember the afternoon we rode out to their pretty country-seat,
and had that delicious supper of strawberries and cream, under those
old trees? and do you remember how handsome and picturesque her
husband looked in that broad Panama hat, raking up the hay when the
thunder-shower came up? and how happy Ruth looked, and her children?
'Tis a dreadful change for her, I declare; if it were me, I believe I
should cut my throat."
"That is probably just what her relatives would like to have her do,"
replied Mary, laughing; "they are as much mortified at her being here,
as you and I are to be seen in such a quarter of the city."
"Why don't they provide for her, then," said the other lady, "at least
till she can turn round? that youngest child is only a baby yet."
"Oh, that's _their_ affair," answered Mary, "don't bother about it.
Hyacinth has just married a rich, fashionable wife, and of course he
cannot lose caste by associating with Ruth now; you cannot blame him."
"Well, that don't prevent him from _helping_ her, does it?"
"Good gracious, Gertrude, do stop! if there's anything I hate, it is an
argument. It is clearly none of our business to take her up, if her own
people don't do it. Come, go to La Temps with me, and get an ice. What
a love of a collar you have on; it is handsomer than mine, which I gave
fifty dollars for, but what is fifty dollars, when one fancies a thing?
If I didn't make my husband's money fly, his second wife would; so
I will save her ladyship that trouble;" and with an arch toss of her
plumed head, the speaker and her companion entered the famous saloon of
La Temps, where might be seen any sunny day, between the hours of twelve
and three, the disgusting spectacle of scores of ladies devouring, _ad
infinitum_, brandy-drops, Roman punch, Charlotte Russe, pies, cakes,
and ices; and sipping "parfait amour," till their flushed cheeks and
emancipated tongues prepared them to listen and reply to any amount of
questionable nonsense from their attendant roué cavaliers.