I must say they don't seem to mind it.

I haven't seen a jollier crowd anywhere in New York.

They seem to have forgotten death a little more completely than any of their fellow-citizens, Isabel.

And I wonder what they think of us, making this gorgeous progress through their midst.

I suppose they think we're rich, and hate us--if they hate rich people; they don't look as if they hated anybody.
Should we be as patient as they are with their discomfort?
I don't believe there's steam heat or an elevator in the whole block.