The next morning, the mother and her three youngest daughters, all
draped in deepest black, arrived at Rose Hill prepared to find
fault with everything which savored at all of the "horrid
country." Even Eugenia sank into nonentity in the presence of the
cold city-bred woman, who ignored her existence entirely,
notwithstanding that she loudly and repeatedly expressed so much
affection for the deceased.
"Perhaps your daughter wrote to you of me (Miss Deane); we were
great friends," she said, when they stood together in the presence
of the dead, and Mrs. Grey's emotions had somewhat subsided.
"Possibly; but I never remember names," returned the haughty lady,
without raising her eyes.
"There are so few people here with whom she could be intimate,"
continued Eugenia, "that I saw a great deal of her."
But to this Mrs. Grey made no reply, except to ask, "Whose idea
was it dressing Ella in this plain muslin wrapper, when she had so
many handsome dresses? But it don't matter," she continued, as
Eugenia was about to disclaim all participation in that affair.
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