Oh, most extraordinary! said Laura, as they went in. The old lady however concealed such surprise as she may have felt, and greeted Mr. Wendover as if he were any one of fifty familiars. She took him altogether for granted and asked him no questions about his arrival, his departure, his hotel or his business in England. He noticed, as he afterwards confided to Laura, her omission of these forms; but he was not wounded by ithe only made a mark against it as an illustration of the difference between English and American manners: in New York people always asked the arriving stranger the first thing about the steamer and the hotel. Mr. Wendover appeared greatly impressed with Lady Davenant's antiquity, though he confessed to his companion on a subsequent occasion that he thought her a little flippant, a little frivolous even for her years. Oh yes, said the girl, on that occasion, I have no doubt that you considered she talked too much, for one so old. In America old ladies sit silent and listen to the young. Mr. Wendover stared a little and replied to this that with herwith Laura Wingit was impossible to tell which side she was on, the American or the English: sometimes she seemed to take one, sometimes the other. At any rate, he added, smiling, with regard to the other great division it was easy to seeshe was on the side of the old. Of course I am, she said; when one is old! And then he inquired, according to his wont, if she were thought so in England; to which she answered that it was England that had made her so.
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Lady Davenant's bright drawing-room was filled with mementoes and especially with a collection of portraits of distinguished people, mainly fine old prints with signatures, an array of precious autographs. Oh, it's a cemetery, she said, when the young man asked her some question about one of the pictures; they are my contemporaries, they are all dead and those things are the tombstones, with the inscriptions. I'm the grave-digger, I look after the place and try to keep it a little tidy. I have dug my own little hole, she went on, to Laura, and when you are sent for you must come and put me in. This evocation of mortality led Mr. Wendover to ask her if she had known Charles Lamb; at which she stared for an instant, replying: Dear me, noone didn't meet him.
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