CHAPTER V
SHABBINESS
"I positively didn't know how shabby the house was till I'd readJeannette's letter of acceptance!"
She did not say it to her father--not Georgiana Warne. She said it notto James Stuart, nor to Mr. E. C. Jefferson. Being Georgiana, she saidit to no one but her slightly daunted self. She was standing in the hallas she spoke, the wide, plain hall which ran straight through the middleof the wide, plain house, with its square rooms on either side and itswinding, old-fashioned staircase at the back. Of the house itself,Georgiana was not in the least ashamed. She knew that it possessed acertain charm of aspect, from the fanlight over the entrance door to thebig quaint kitchen with its uneven floor dark with time. It was when onecame to details that the charm sordidly vanished--at least to thecritical vision of the young housewife. Like the worn white paint uponits exterior, the walls and floors within called loudly for a restoringhand. As for the furnishings, Georgiana looked about her with anappraising eye which took in all their dinginess. The old rugs andcarpets were so nearly threadbare; the furniture was so worn; the verymuslin curtains at the windows, though white as hands could make them,had been so many times repaired that even artful draping could notwholly conceal their deficiencies.
In other ways the household's lack of means made itself plainly apparentto the daughter of the house, as she went from room to room. The linenpress, for instance--how pitifully low its piles of sheets and towelshad grown! Hardly a sheet but had a patch upon it, hardly a towel buthad been cut down and rehemmed, that it might last as long as possible.There was, to be sure, one small tier of towels, handed down fromGeorgiana's grandmother and carefully preserved against much using, ofwhich any mistress of a linen press might be proud. There were also twopairs of fine hand-made linen sheets with borders exquisitely drawn; twopairs of pillow cases to match, and a quite wonderful old bedspread ofknitted lace.
"I can keep washing out the best towels for her," Georgiana reflectedresignedly as she counted her resources.
In the china cupboard there was left quite a stock of rare old platesand dishes which could be used as occasion demanded. The blue-and-whitecrockery which must serve a part of the time was pretty meagre, thesupply of antique silver good as far as it went; it did not go very far.
But--"After all," said Georgiana to herself determinedly, "we can giveher good things to eat, and served as attractively as need be--whyshould I mind about the rest? Father in his armchair is a benediction toany meal, and Mr. Jefferson can talk as few guests can who sit at theCrofton table, I'll wager. I'll not be apologetic, even in my mind, nomatter how much I feel like it. I've asked her and she's coming. Shewouldn't be coming if she wasn't in a way willing to take what shefinds. We'll have a good time out of it."
Whereupon she betook herself to the room which was to be given to hercousin, and fell to work with a will, for this was the last thing to bedone before the arrival of the guest.
When it was in order she looked about it, not ill content. It would bean exacting guest, surely, who could not be comfortable here--and thereare many guest-rooms of elaborate appointments where guests are notwholly comfortable. This room was large and square and airy, with itsfour windows facing east and south, and the view from the eastern oneswas far-reaching, with a glimpse of blue mountain ranges in thedistance. If the matting upon the floor had been many times turned andrefitted, its worn places were now all cunningly hidden and it was asfresh as the newly scrubbed paint on the woodwork. There was aluxuriously cushioned, high-backed chair--would Jeannette, by anypossibility, recognize the blue silk of those cushion covers? Georgianawondered. Jeannette, who never wore a frock long enough really to becomefamiliar with its pattern, would only know that the cushions were softto her comfort-accustomed body. The woven rag rugs of blue and whiteupon the floor were of Georgiana's own making. An ancient desk, whichhad belonged to Mr. Warne's mother, was carefully fitted with all thesmall articles one could desire in reason, taken from Georgiana'scherished college equipment. The washstand in the corner, behind ahome-made screen of clever design, was furnished with two beautiful oldblue-and-white ewers--the pride of Georgiana's heart, for they had comeover from England with her great grandmother; and the rack was hung asfull with towels as fastidious bather could desire. There were two orthree interesting old prints upon the walls. Altogether, with its smallbedroom fireplace laid ready for a fire, and a blue denim-coveredwoodbox filled to overflowing with more wood----
She had forgotten to fill the woodbox, as yet. It was nearly time todress for Jeannette's coming. Georgiana ran hurriedly downstairs andthrough the kitchen, warm and fragrant with the baking of the day inpreparation for the coming supper, and in that pleasant order which thekitchen of the good housewife shows at four in the afternoon. In thewoodshed beyond she gathered a great armful of wood, not to bother withthe basket, which would not hold so much--and hurried back again, makingtoward the front stairs this time, because the back stairs were narrowand steep, and one could not rush up them at great speed with one's armsfull of wood.
"Wait a minute, please, Miss Warne!"
The front door of the house shut with a bang, and hasty footsteps caughtup with Georgiana at the foot of the stairs, just as one big sticktumbled loose from her hold and went crashing down behind her.
"Oh, never mind," she panted. The load was much heavier than she hadrealized, but she had not meant to be caught upon the front stairs withit--not even if it had been James Stuart who came to her rescue.
It was not Stuart, but evidently one quite of Stuart's mind, forGeorgiana now found her arms unburdened of their heavy incumbrancewithout further parley, and herself put where she belonged by this coolcommand:
"Never carry a load like this when you have a man in the house."
"But--but we haven't!" objected Georgiana, her voice a triflebreathless. She followed Mr. Jefferson, as he strode up the stairs withthe wood. She opened the door of the guest-room and lifted the cover ofthe woodbox.
"Haven't?" he questioned, dumping the wood into the box, and thenstooping to rearrange it. "Would you object to telling me what youconsider me, then?"
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that he was supposed to be aliterary light, but she restrained the too-familiar speech.
"You are, of course, a boarder--a 'paying guest,' as we should say, ifwe were some people," she observed with gravity. "You are expected tocomplain of whatever service you receive, not to offer any under anycircumstances."
"I see. Were you intending to fill this box?"
He stood upright, and his glance wandered from the box in questionaround the pleasant room in its fresh and expectant order. But it camediscreetly back to Georgiana's face.
"Not at all," she denied. "There's quite enough there for to-night."
He nodded, and went toward the door. "The woodshed is, I suppose, beyondthe kitchen, after the fashion of woodsheds, and the kitchen is beyondthe dining-room?"
"Please don't bother!"
Of course it was useless to protest--and she followed him down thestairs, through dining-room and kitchen to the woodshed. As he passedthrough the kitchen he stopped and stood still in the middle of it.
"May I look for a minute?" he asked. "It takes me back to my boyhood. Mymother used just such a kitchen as this. I thought it the best room inthe house."
His lips took on a smile as he looked. Georgiana, with her own hands,had scoured every inch of that kitchen, had made to shine brilliantlyevery utensil which had in it possibilities of shining. It wasimpossible not to feel a housewifely pride in the appearance of theplace, and to exult in the spicy odours which told of the morning'sbakings.
Mr. Jefferson, going on into the woodshed and returning with awell-balanced load of wood which put Georgiana's late attempt to theblush, assured her that he felt personally competent to attend to thewoodbox without further aid from her, and marched away as if he werequite accustomed to such tasks.
It may be here stated that next day, when in his abse
nce she looked intohis room to see if the woodbox there were quite empty, she found itquite full, though she could not possibly remember when he haddiscovered the opportunity to do the deed without her knowledge. Andfrom this time forth, during the remainder of his stay, she was obligedto resign herself to the fact that the "man in the house," though hemight be a boarder, would permit no interference with this self-assumedtask.
Jeannette had written that she would arrive on a certain Thursdayafternoon between four and five, being conveyed by motor from the largecity, sixty miles away, which was her home. Georgiana, therefore, withmemories of college days again strong upon her, made ready to serveafternoon tea beside the living-room fire.
"Be prepared to have this function every day while the guest is here,Father Davy," said she. "Jeannette's undoubtedly accustomed to it andwould miss it more than she could miss any other one thing. But she's tohave only the plainest of thin bread and butter with it, since oursix-o'clock village supper comes so soon after. We mustn't pamper her,must we?"
Mr. Warne, in his armchair by the fireside, ready to welcome the guest,looked up at his daughter with bright eyes. "Pampering," said he, "isthe atmosphere of this house. Jeannette cannot escape it. I am pamperedbeyond belief every day of my life. At this very moment my eyes arefeasting upon the sight of my child in what must be an absolutely newold dress!"
A peculiar expression crossed Georgiana's face as she glanced down atthe soft gray-blue of the afternoon frock she had donned for theoccasion.
"I'm wondering if she will recognize it," she murmured. "It was one ofthe white evening gowns in that last 'Semi-Annual.' I coloured itmyself--as usual. It really came out pretty well, but it gives me aqueer, conscious feeling to be wearing it when I meet her. Do yousuppose she'll know it, Father Davy?"
"And if she does?" The tone was that of a tender irony.
"I suppose I'm an idiot to care! I don't care--_but I do_!" Georgianaflung a look at the slim man in the big chair, which said that she wasconfident of his understanding her, no matter what she said.
"No false pride, daughter," he warned her. "You can tell the big manfrom the little one by the character of the things he is willing toaccept. There was never any stigma attached to wearing the discardedgarments of another, provided they were come by honestly. And when onehas coloured them, into the bargain--and looks like the 'Portrait of aLady' in them----"
"Father Davy, you're the most comforting creature!" And Georgianadropped a kiss upon the top of the head which rested against the back ofthe worn old armchair.
If she had not been watching from the window she would not have knownwhen the Crofton car drew up at the door, so quietly did the great,shining motor roll down the macadamized road which ran through the mainstreet of the little town. She was out and down the manse path inhospitable alacrity, yet not without the dignity of which she wasmistress.
So this was the guest whom she had ventured to ask down to thehospitality of the shabby old village manse! If she had been a princess,Miss Jeannette Crofton could not more thoroughly have looked the part.Georgiana had known many rich men's daughters at college and had foundclose friends among them, but no one of them had ever suggested such abackground of luxury as did this slim and graceful girl, as she set herpretty foot upon the old box-bordered gravel path. She was rather smallof stature, her fair-haired beauty was of a strikingly attractive type,and every detail of her attire and belongings breathed of wealth andfashion. Georgiana felt herself instantly a buxom milkmaid beside her.