Miss Dryfoos had keen black eyes, and her hair was intensely black.  Her face, but for the slight inward curve of the nose, was regular, and the smallness of her nose and of her mouth did not weaken her face, but gave it a curious effect of fierceness, of challenge.  She had a large black fan in her hand, which she waved in talking, with a slow, watchful nervousness.  Her sister was blonde, and had a profile like her brother’s; but her chin was not so salient, and the weak look of the mouth was not corrected by the spirituality or the fervor of his eyes, though hers were of the same mottled blue.  She dropped into the low seat beside Mrs. Mandel, and intertwined her fingers with those of the hand which Mrs. Mandel let her have.  She smiled upon the Marches, while Miss Dryfoos watched them intensely, with her eyes first on one and then on the other, as if she did not mean to let any expression of theirs escape her.

“My mother will be down in a minute,” she said to Mrs. March.

“I hope we’re not disturbing her.  It is so good of you to let us come in the evening,” Mrs. March replied.

“Oh, not at all,” said the girl.  “We receive in the evening.”

“When we do receive,” Miss Mela put in.  “We don’t always get the chance to.”  She began a laugh, which she checked at a smile from Mrs. Mandel, which no one could have seen to be reproving.

Miss Dryfoos looked down at her fan, and looked up defiantly at Mrs. March.  “I suppose you have hardly got settled.  We were afraid we would disturb you when we called.”

“Oh no!  We were very sorry to miss your visit.  We are quite settled in our new quarters.  Of course, it’s all very different from Boston.”

“I hope it’s more of a sociable place there,” Miss Mela broke in again.  “I never saw such an unsociable place as New York.  We’ve been in this house three months, and I don’t believe that if we stayed three years any of the neighbors would call.”

“I fancy proximity doesn’t count for much in New York,” March suggested.

Mrs. Mandel said:  “That’s what I tell Miss Mela.  But she is a very social nature, and can’t reconcile herself to the fact.”

“No, I can’t,” the girl pouted.  “I think it was twice as much fun in Moffitt.  I wish I was there now.”

“Yes,” said March, “I think there’s a great deal more enjoyment in those smaller places.  There’s not so much going on in the way of public amusements, and so people make more of one another.  There are not so many concerts, theatres, operas—­”

“Oh, they’ve got a splendid opera-house in Moffitt.  It’s just grand,” said Miss Mela.

“Have you been to the opera here, this winter?” Mrs. March asked of the elder girl.

She was glaring with a frown at her sister, and detached her eyes from her with an effort.  “What did you say?” she demanded, with an absent bluntness.  “Oh yes.  Yes!  We went once.  Father took a box at the Metropolitan.”