I should think you would be glad tohave the comfort of our carriage."
She was always careful never to call anything hers; she always said"ours."
I flushed angrily.
"I hate driving," I repeated.
"I am sorry, dear. Well, we will get the things you hate over asquickly as possible. You must get your school outfit, you see, as youare going to Paris on the 21st. Now run upstairs and get your hat andjacket on."
Was there ever a girl so bullied before? I went unwillingly upstairs.On the second floor, where I now slept, I saw Hannah coming downstairs.I ran up to her and took one of her hands.
"What have you been doing?" I asked.
"Doing?" said Hannah. "Doing? What's the matter with you, Dumps?"
"She's going to send me away, Hannah."
"Don't talk to me," replied Hannah.
"Hannah, I must I'm just stifling."
"I can't talk to you now--not now. She's everywhere, and she has herspies about--all them new servants; they're hand in glove with her--eating her food and taking her wages."
"But, Hannah, we eat her food and take her wages."
"Well, I must confess I thought there was a time when I could put upwith it, but if you go I go too. There!"
I clutched her hand. There came a rustling sound of a silk dress up thestairs. No, it was not a silk dress; it was a woollen one of goodmaterial, but Mrs Grant had all her dresses lined with silk.
"I hate going," I had just time to whisper.
"I'll come to your bedroom to-night, and we'll talk this thing out,"said Hannah.
But how small I felt myself, condescending to talk even to poor oldHannah about my step-mother!
"Come, dear," cried the pleasant voice, "are you ready? The carriage isat the door."
I rushed into my bedroom, got into my hat and jacket, and was downstairsin a trice. Mrs Grant came up to me.
"Not tidily put on, Rachel," she said. She dragged my tie into astraight position, and straightened my hat; then she said approvingly,"Ah! gloves are nice, and so are the boots. Always remember, Rachel,that a lady is known by her good gloves and good boots. Now then,come."
She stepped into the carriage first, and I followed. She gave orders.We stopped at a large shop, where we bought a quantity of things--orrather she bought them--underclothing of every sort and description,more stockings than I thought I could ever use in the whole course of mylife, a lot more handkerchiefs, embroidered petticoats, dark petticoats;then gloves--walking gloves and evening gloves and afternoon gloves; andby-and-by we went into the region where pretty things were to be found.Such a sweetly becoming costume was got for me--dark-blue again, but nowtrimmed richly with velvet which was embroidered in a strange andmystical sort of pattern. In my heart of hearts I adored it, but allthe time I stood gloomy and silent and without a smile on my face.
"Come," said Mrs Grant when the purchases were nearly finished, "youmust, my dear child, put on a slightly more agreeable face, for we aregoing to the millinery department, and I cannot choose a hat which willsuit you while you look like that."
I tried to smile, but instead I burst into a sort of hystericallaughter.
"I wish you wouldn't," I said.
She took my hand and squeezed it.
"You wish I wouldn't? But I wish I could do a thousand times more foryou. Come, darling, come." The word "darling," after all the calminsistence of having her own way all the morning, broke on my heart witha feverish desire to respond to it, but I would not. No, I would not beconquered.
Oh, how particular my step-mother was about that hat! As if it matteredafter all. It was the quietest and most expensive hat I had ever seen.As to the feathers, she took them to the light, examined them and pulledthem about, and saw that they were exactly the right shade, until Iscarcely knew how to contain myself. I could not help murmuring undermy breath, "I shall become a sort of Augusta if this goes on. I shallloathe clothes if this continues."
Finally a dark-blue hat was chosen to suit the dark-blue costume, andthen a grey hat with a long grey feather was also bought for bestoccasions; and afterwards I was supplied with a perfectly fascinatingset of chinchilla furs, chinchilla for my neck and a darling little muffto match.
"You shall wear this hat with these chinchillas," said my step-mother;"and I will get you a very good brown fur for everyday wear--fox. Youmust wear your chinchillas when you want to be extra smart."
At last all the list of things that Mrs Grant considered necessary fora young lady's entrance into the fashionable Parisian school wereobtained.
"We have done a good morning's work," she said, and she desired thecoachman to take us home.
"At least I shall have the afternoon to myself," I thought.
Now, if the truth must be known, hateful as the morning had been, therehad also been a sort of feeling of enjoyment. The things that had beenbought were good, and I was to be no longer a shabby girl. When Iremembered the dark-brown skirt of uncertain make and by no meansuncertain length, with the brick-red blouse which had been my proudpossession such a very short time ago, I could not help smiling tomyself at the vastness of the contrast. But, alas and alack! why was Iso perverse that I thought I would welcome that skirt and hideous blouseif only I might be back again in the old days? But would I? Could Ihave this afternoon to myself, I should have a certain satisfaction ingoing to see the Swans, and inviting them back to tea, which I wasalways permitted to do, and giving them an account of my ravishingchinchilla, my beautiful fox, my dark-blue costume, and my new hats.What would they not feel? I fairly believed that they would begin tosee beauty in my small and insignificant eyes, in my _retrousse_ nose,in my somewhat wide mouth.
"Oh, riches, riches!" I muttered under my breath.
"As you did not get the dress I expected you to get before Christmas,Rachel," said my step-mother during lunch-time, "I have ordered thedark-blue costume and the grey hat and the grey furs to be sent homeimmediately, for I am going to visit some special friends of mine thisafternoon, and I want you to accompany me."
"Oh, but twice in the carriage!" I said.
"I am sorry. To-morrow we will do a lot of walking. I have heaps todo, and I love a tramp on my feet, as you know. I won't have thecarriage at all to-morrow; we'll walk until we are fit to drop. But goand amuse yourself, dear, for the carriage will not be round again untilfour o'clock."
I went away to my room. The little gas-stove was alight and the roomwas warm and comfortable. I went and stood by the window and lookedround the apartment. It had been made so elegant, so sweet, so freshfor me. Then I glanced at the bed; it was covered with parcels--greatbig boxes, small boxes, parcels made up in brown-paper. What girl canresist an unopened parcel? Not even Rachel Grant. I began to take outmy wonderful possessions, to look at them, to examine them. Inthemselves they were fascinating, but the sting lay in the fact thatthey had been given me by her. They all seemed to be witnesses againstthe miniature--the dear miniature which was fading and fading out ofevery one's memory.
"The only person in this house," I said to myself, "who has a grain ofsense is poor old Hannah."
Just as the thought floated through my brain the door was opened andHannah came in.
"I had a few minutes to spare, and I thought I'd just steal in and havea talk with you now. She's downstairs talking to a visitor--drat her!say I. Now then, Miss Dumps, what is it? You tell me, and as quick asyou can."
Hannah was the cook of the establishment, and I must say an excellentcook she made.
"Why, Hannah," I said, "I can't imagine how you manage to leave thekitchen just now."
"Oh, I can manage," said Hannah. "I get as much help as I want."
"And you are such a good cook, Hannah; you take to the new life askindly as I do."
"Much chance I have of not taking to it. It's do your work or go;that's the rule of rules in this house. If you are kept to cook, cookyou must; if you don't cook, out you go, and some one else comes in whocan cook
. That's the way. Now, Miss Rachel, you've got to be made intoa fashionable young lady, magnificently dressed, and educated in one ofthe 'orrid French schools."
Hannah threw a world of contempt into the adjective she bestowed uponthe Parisian school.
"In one of them 'orrid French schools," she said; "and if you don'tsubmit, why, out you goes too."
"Why, Hannah, how could I go out? I often wish I could."
"Poor child!" said Hannah. "Well, now--oh, my word! what are allthose?"
She had not noticed the parcels before. She now sprang on them andbegan to examine them. In spite of herself