DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.68288#0175
MRS. FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT 131
attention from all the world. She had a little quiet way
of sitting in a big armchair, looking gentle and smiling,
but saying little, entirely different from the sweet re-
sponsiveness which she showed in intimate conversa-
tion.
Her friend, Miss Brandt, who lived next door, used to
tell a story, illuminating, not only as to Mrs. Burnett,
but as to others who possess in any degree the literary or
artistic temperament. Some cousins who were most
anxious to meet Mrs. Burnett came over one afternoon to
see Miss Brandt. They would do anything, wait any
time, or come back on any occasion for a chance of just a
glimpse of her. Poor Miss Brandt was terribly worried.
She knew how bored Mrs. Burnett would be, and made
every possible excuse, but her friends were insistent. Of
course they didn’t want to intrude, but they could come on
any day.
But presently the scene began to work out as a scene
sometimes does, as if it were in a play. Miss Brandt’s
nieces and nephews came piling into the room accompa-
nied by the little Fauntleroys, grabbed as much cake as
they were allowed to have, went over and seated them-
selves in front of the open fire, and in a few minutes the
front door was heard to open and Miss Brandt knew,
from the voice and footstep, that Mrs. Burnett was com-
ing. She came into the room, her coat thrown open, her
furs, her veil, a little dishevelled in true literary fashion
— her gloves and her wraps were always apt to be falling
off. She had been walking and was slightly flushed, but as
she saw who was there and joined the group, her manner
became impersonal.
The three guests, who were quite young women, could
attention from all the world. She had a little quiet way
of sitting in a big armchair, looking gentle and smiling,
but saying little, entirely different from the sweet re-
sponsiveness which she showed in intimate conversa-
tion.
Her friend, Miss Brandt, who lived next door, used to
tell a story, illuminating, not only as to Mrs. Burnett,
but as to others who possess in any degree the literary or
artistic temperament. Some cousins who were most
anxious to meet Mrs. Burnett came over one afternoon to
see Miss Brandt. They would do anything, wait any
time, or come back on any occasion for a chance of just a
glimpse of her. Poor Miss Brandt was terribly worried.
She knew how bored Mrs. Burnett would be, and made
every possible excuse, but her friends were insistent. Of
course they didn’t want to intrude, but they could come on
any day.
But presently the scene began to work out as a scene
sometimes does, as if it were in a play. Miss Brandt’s
nieces and nephews came piling into the room accompa-
nied by the little Fauntleroys, grabbed as much cake as
they were allowed to have, went over and seated them-
selves in front of the open fire, and in a few minutes the
front door was heard to open and Miss Brandt knew,
from the voice and footstep, that Mrs. Burnett was com-
ing. She came into the room, her coat thrown open, her
furs, her veil, a little dishevelled in true literary fashion
— her gloves and her wraps were always apt to be falling
off. She had been walking and was slightly flushed, but as
she saw who was there and joined the group, her manner
became impersonal.
The three guests, who were quite young women, could