Mrs. Strickland used her advantage with tact. You felt that you
obliged her by accepting her sympathy. When, in the
enthusiasm of my youth, I remarked on this to Rose Waterford,
she said:
"Milk is very nice, especially with a drop of brandy in it,
but the domestic cow is only too glad to be rid of it.
A swollen udder is very uncomfortable."
Rose Waterford had a blistering tongue. No one could say such
bitter things; on the other hand, no one could do more
charming ones.
There was another thing I liked in Mrs. Strickland.
She managed her surroundings with elegance. Her flat was always
neat and cheerful, gay with flowers, and the chintzes in the
drawing-room, notwithstanding their severe design, were bright
and pretty. The meals in the artistic little dining-room were
pleasant; the table looked nice, the two maids were trim and
comely; the food was well cooked. It was impossible not to
see that Mrs. Strickland was an excellent housekeeper.
And you felt sure that she was an admirable mother. There were
photographs in the drawing-room of her son and daughter.
The son -- his name was Robert -- was a boy of sixteen at Rugby;
and you saw him in flannels and a cricket cap, and again in a
tail-coat and a stand-up collar.
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