She was excited because they were going to the ivy house for tea. It
looked so pretty and so happy with its green face shining in the sun.
Nothing could take from her her belief in happiness hiding behind certain
unknown doors. It hid behind the white doors of the ivy house. When you
went in something wonderful would happen.
The ivy house belonged to Mrs. Waugh and Miss Frewin.
The photographs in Mamma's old album showed how they looked when they and
Mamma were young. Modest pose of dropped arms, holding mushroom hats in
front of them as a protection, the narrow ribbons dangling innocently.
Ellen Frewin, small and upright, slender back curved in to the set of
shawl and crinoline, prim head fixed in the composure of gentle disdain,
small mouth saying always "Oh," Meta, the younger sister, very tall, head
bent in tranquil meditation, her mantle slanting out from the fall of the
thin shoulders.
They rose up in the small, green lighted drawing-room. Their heads bent
forward to kiss.
Ellen Waugh: the photographed face still keeping its lifted posture of
gentle disdain, the skin stretched like a pale tight glove, a slight
downward swelling of the prim oval, like the last bulge of a sucked
peppermint ball, the faded mouth still making its small "oh." She was the
widow of a clergyman.
Meta, a beautiful nose leaping out at you in a high curve; narrow,
delicate cheeks thinned away so that they seemed part of the nose; sweet
rodent mouth smiling up under its tip; blurred violet eyes arching
vaguely.
Princess gowns stiffened their shawl and crinoline gestures.
"So this is Mary. She's not like her mother, Caroline. Meta, can you see
any likeness?"
Miss Frewin arched her eyes and smiled, without looking at you.
"I can't say I do."
Their heads made little nodding bows as they talked. Miss Frewin's bow
was sidelong and slow, Mrs. Waugh's straight and decisive.
"She's not like Rodney," Mrs. Waugh said. "And she's not like Emilius.
Who is she like?"
Mary answered. "I'm rather like Dan and a good bit like Mark. But I'm
most of all like myself."
Mrs. Waugh said "Oh." Her mouth went on saying it while she looked at
you.
"She is not in the least like Mark," Mamma said.
They settled down, one on each side of Mamma, smiling at her with their
small, faded mouths as you smile at people you love and are happy with.
You could see that Mamma was happy, too, sitting between them, safe.