Everybodythat afternoon seemed to be bringing something. We might have been spreading broadcast an announcement that each caller was expected to provide himself with an offering as evidence of good faith. The moment I set eyes on Major Tibbet I perceived that he had his. It took the shape of a brown-paper parcel of some size, and, apparently, some weight, since he bore it in front of him, on both arms, as if it were a baby. As he is not the kind of person one would expect to see carry a parcel of any kind, the effect was a little funny.
Audrey’s and Doris’ forced laughter seemed to give him a false impression of what was going on. He broke into what he probably intended should be a smile of the extremest affability.
“I come at a fortunate moment, to find you laughing! full of fun! Nothing so delightful as the merriment of young ladies. I thoroughly enjoy a joke, myself.” He addressed Audrey. “I have here a trifle which I trust will not meet with the disapprobation of Mrs O’Brady.”
“It doesn’t look as if it were a trifle.”
“Between ourselves, it’s not—weighs twenty pounds if an ounce—magnificent bird—pick of the market.” His voice assumed a tone of great solemnity. “It’s a truffled turkey—prepared by my own chef, with his own hands, after a recipe of his own. Achef-d’œuvre; an unique, Miss Audrey, an unique!”
The Major makes a god of his belly. The only things he really cares for—besides the decoration of his ridiculous old person—are things to eat and drink. He keeps the menus of his dinners. He can give you the history—with all the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed—of meals he ate thirty years ago; with the names of all the dishes, detailed accounts of how they were cooked, and realistic descriptions of how they tasted. It gives me a feeling of having over-eaten myself to hear him talk.
“I have ventured, also, Miss Audrey, to command a small dinner at the King’s to-night, which I am hopeful that Mrs O’Brady will do me the honour of eating with me. I will tell you what I have ordered——”
“Had you not better tell mamma that? She might like to be the first recipient of so delicious a communication.”
“You may be right. I think you probably are. When one considers the matter broadly, one perceives that that would only be just to Mrs O’Brady. I will tell you afterwards, Miss Audrey; only a pleasure postponed, that’s all. This parcel is a trifle heavy; I think, with your permission, I should like to——”
As he began to look about for a spot on which to deposit his twenty-pound turkey, his eyes travelled in my direction. When they reached me, he started. He came a step nearer, as if, at that distance, his poor, faded, old eyes were not perfectly sure that it was I. Having made up his mind upon the point, he quite obviously started again, coming close up to me with a sort of little canter. At the same moment I was conscious—though the Major was not—that mamma had entered the room, and stood just inside the door, listening and looking on.
“My dear Miss Norah, fancy my not noticing you before—most extraordinary! Can’t think how it could have happened. I’m sure, I beg ten thousand pardons. However, better late than never; you know the old saying, my dear Miss Norah. Allow me to present you with this truffled turkey—done by my own man. If I were to tell you, in confidence, what I pay the fellow, you’d stare. I’ve reason to believe that, before you put your fork into him, this bird will have cost me five pounds. Yet I dare to assert that, by the time you have done with him, you will agree with me that he was worth every farthing of it, Miss Norah, every farthing.”
“Thank you, Major Tibbet, but I do not care for truffled turkey.”
“Not care for truffled turkey! What are you saying, Miss Norah? You can’t mean it. I suppose it’s a jest of yours—an excellent one, too. Because, of course, it isn’t possible that anyone shouldn’t care for truffled turkey.”
“It is not only possible, but, in my case, it’s an actual fact. I do not care for truffled turkey, Major Tibbet. Nor, in any case, could I accept a gift which was intended for my mother.”
When I said this, I saw mamma—who, with the aid of herpince-nez, had been taking the liveliest interest in the Major’s remarks—give a kind of little jump. I knew that she liked truffled turkey, and that, indeed, on the subject of eating and drinking, generally, she and the Major were in considerable sympathy. I suppose that, when people grow old, they are fonder of that kind of thing than when they are young.
That gormandising Major, in complete unconsciousness of who was standing behind him, threw mamma’s prior claim upon his wretched bird entirely overboard.
“Ah, your mother, your respected mother. I do like to find young girls considering their mothers. It’s a sweet trait—yes, it’s a very sweet trait—in your character, Miss Norah. Still, I’ve no doubt that you and I, between us, shall be able to manage with your mother, afterwards—that is, if you will condescend to accept my little offering.”
“Thank you, Major Tibbet, but I will not.”
“Then, in that case, we’ll say no more about it, and we’ll settle it in this way. I’ve ordered dinner at the King’s restaurant this evening. If they carry out my instructions—and, if they don’t, they’ll hear of it!—I think I can promise you something which shall be worthy even of—Miss Norah; if Miss Norah will permit me to count upon her as my guest.”
“I thought, Major Tibbet, that the dinner also was intended for mamma.”
“Really, Miss Norah, really! you are unduly severe, you really are! You should never go behind an invitation—never. When I invite you, I invite you, and venture to anticipate a favourable reply. It would make me so happy, Miss Norah, it really would.”
Jack Purchase came forward.
“Pardon me, Major Tibbet. Perhaps, Miss Norah, I had better explain. Major Tibbet, Miss Norah will not be able to dine with you to-night, as she is sharing my box at the Gaiety Theatre.”
Basil Carter followed.
“Major Tibbet, in a sense, that statement is correct—with the solitary exception that it is my box which Miss Norah is going to share.”
“Now, Basil, have I again to remonstrate with you?”
“My dear Jack, the remonstrance would more properly come from me!”
Walter Hammond thrust in his comments, seeming to jerk out his limbs in all directions as he spoke.
“At it again! Nice boys, aren’t they, Miss Norah? Always in their little nests agree! Since still they can’t make up their minds who’s who, and what’s what, and Tibbet’s a little late with his dinner, do say, Miss Norah, you’ll have that stall of mine. It’ll be so sporting of you, don’t you know; and you’ll be able to nod now and then at Purchase and Carter, as they sit glaring at each other in their boxes.”
Apparently mamma had arrived at the conclusion that it was time to announce her presence.
“What does this discussion mean? And how is it that Norah has all at once become the centre of so much attention? Norah, what have you been doing? How are you, gentlemen? Good-afternoon, Major.”
Major Tibbet advanced to mamma, holding out his brown paper parcel—of which I rather suspected he had become wearied.
“Here you are, Mrs O’Brady! How are you? Hope you’re well. Here’s a truffled turkey for you. Miss Norah doesn’t seem to care for it, but I’m sure you will. Much pleasure in giving it you, I’m sure.”
Whether mamma had equal pleasure in accepting it was not so obvious—particularly after the remarks which she could not have helped but hear, and the manner of presentation was, to say the least, peculiar. Without waiting to see if mamma was ready to relieve him of his burden, he forced it on her in such a very singular fashion that it went crashing to the floor. He did not stop to inquire if it had fallen on her feet, which it might easily have done, and twenty pounds is twenty pounds when it falls upon your tightly-fitting slippers; still less did he trouble himself to even offer to pick it up again. The moment he had got rid of it he came bustling back to me, mumbling an apology which was fashioned on lines which were distinctly his own.
“Beg pardon—thought you’d got it—really! Better ring the bell, and tell servant to take it away—thing’s so heavy, nearly broken both my arms—couldn’t have held it another moment, really! Now, Miss Norah, about this dinner to-night. I’ve ordered a bisque, which—I give you my personal assurance—when you have once tasted it you will not easily forget.”
Again there came an interposition from Mr Purchase.
“Miss Norah will not have an opportunity of forgetting the—article in question, since it is apparently necessary to repeat to you that, this evening, she is engaged to me.”
“To me, that is.”
This, of course, was Basil Carter.
“I would recommend you, Major Tibbet, to understand that Purchase speaks in a general sense only, since, in the letter, as a matter of plain fact, Miss Norah is engaged to me.”
“Major Tibbet, Basil, is too wise a man to discredit my positive statement.”
“He will be an exceedingly unwise one if he casts the faintest shadow of a doubt on mine.”
Then came Mr Hammond.
“I’m the last person in the world to wish to breed dissension where there’s disputing already, because a pretty quarrel’s too good a thing to spoil; but I take leave to remark, Mr Carter, and Mr Purchase, and Major Tibbet, that Miss Norah will relieve you of all your difficulties by bestowing her society on me.”
“Norah,” observed mamma, in that icy tone which I knew so well, and which I knew suggested that she was not in the very sweetest temper, “I think you had better retire to your own room.”
“To her own room!” cried Mr Hammond. “And why, Mrs O’Brady, would you break our hearts and darken the heavens?”
“I don’t know if you are aware, Mr Hammond, that at least your language is peculiar. I am afraid that Norah must have been forgetting herself to be the cause of this—singular scene.”
“Forgetting herself? Not at all! It’s we who have been remembering her—that’s how it is, Mrs O’Brady. And, between ourselves, I’d be glad if you’d tell her that you’d like her to occupy a stall I have to-night at the Gaiety Theatre.”
“Excuse me, Mrs O’Brady,” interposed Basil Carter, “but Mr Hammond seems disposed to take an unfair advantage of you. It is I who would ask you to permit Miss Norah to share my box.”
“Mrs O’Brady,” exclaimed Jack Purchase, “before you say one word to either of them, please allow me to inform you that it was I who first asked Miss Norah to honour me.”
“And how about my dinner at the King’s!” cried Major Tibbet. “I need hardly tell you, Mrs O’Brady, that I have the good fortune to be somewhat the senior of these young gentlemen, and it is therefore with every confidence that I ask you this evening to entrust Miss Norah to me.”
Mamma’s manner, as she replied, was anything but genial.
“Whether consciously or not I cannot say, but you gentlemen are behaving with more than a little singularity. You seem oblivious of the fact that other ladies are present besides this—child. Must I again request you, Norah, to oblige me by at once retiring to your own room?”
Suddenly a voice came from the door, and Mr Rumford advanced at a pace which was hardly becoming to his decidedly well-developed figure—in his hand the ubiquitous box. He and Lilian had entered together, and only a second before, unless I was much mistaken, I had seen him offering it to her. Now he withdrew it, with what was very like a snatch, from her approaching fingers.
“Retire to her own room!” he protested, in that loud, ringing voice of his, which always made me think what an excellent cheap-jack he would have made. “You couldn’t be so cruel, Mrs O’Brady. It’s not to be thought of, not for a moment. May I ask you to accept these bonbons, dear Miss Norah? I am sure you have a sweet tooth—it would be so in character. And I am so fortunate as to have two stalls to-night for the Gaiety Theatre. If you would avail yourself of one——”
He was interrupted by Audrey breaking into an apparently irresistible peal of laughter. Everyone turned to stare at her. That sort of thing is so unusual in Audrey, who is generally the quietest of persons. I, for one, had never heard her laugh like that before. She endeavoured to explain what had caused her merriment.
“It really is so funny; all the world is going to-night to the Gaiety Theatre. The coincidence is most amusing.”
“And yet the explanation is extremely simple,” commented Eveleen, speaking in a coldly acid voice, which meant that she was raging hot within. “We have all been talking about it lately, and I suppose that we have all dropped hints that we would like to go. These gentlemen, with that generosity which we know is one of their most charming characteristics, have acted on those hints—up to a certain point. They have all, with one accord, provided themselves with seats. Are we to take it, Norah, that you propose to occupy them all?”
Mr Hammond snapped his fingers, making a noise like the report of a pop gun.
“You’ve hit it on the head, Miss Eveleen; prevented bloodshed, and solved the problem. Miss Norah, we’ll act upon your sister’s hint. Tibbet, we all of us will dine with you.”
The Major looked as if the proposition took him by surprise—which was not to be wondered at.
“You’ll excuse me, Mr Hammond, but I’m hanged if you will.”
“Then Miss Norah won’t, for to-night we hunt in companies.”
The Major looked at the speaker with a rueful countenance.
“How many are there of you?”
“Four, barring Miss Norah, and she counts for all the world. At what time do you dine?”
“I, sir, dine at eight.”
“Eight! Why, man, that’s the time the theatre begins. You’ll dine at seven.”
“You adopt a very peculiar tone, Mr Hammond, in endeavouring to dictate to me at what hour I take my meals. I entirely decline to contemplate the possibility of my dining at such an un-Christian hour as seven.”
“Good! then we’ll dine at seven, and you’ll dine afterwards. When we’ve dined we’ll go on together in a body to the theatre, and Miss Norah shall take it turn and turn about to sit with us. What do you say, gentlemen? Isn’t that a sporting proposition?”
“On condition that Miss Norah sits first of all with me, I, for one, am not indisposed, for the sake of peace, to waive some portion of my undoubted rights.”
This was Basil Carter. Mr Purchase came hard upon his heels.
“Now, Basil, you’ve taken the words out of my mouth. If Miss Norah sits first with me, Hammond, you may count me in.”
“Gentlemen! gentlemen!” cried Mr Rumford. “It appears to me that I have a voice in the matter; I claim the place of honour.”
Mr Hammond endeavoured to throw oil upon the waters.
“Softly! keep a tight hand upon the reins. Wait till the gate has gone, then we’ll all be off together. There need be no difficulty about a little thing like that. For my part, if the running’s fair, I’m willing that my stall shall be the last Miss Norah sits in; that’ll suit me all the way. But there are ways and means of settling that sort of thing pleasantly and quietly between ourselves. The main point is the principle—we’re to share and share alike. If that’s conceded, we’ll worry about the details afterwards. You understand, Miss Norah, that you’re to dine with us at seven. We’ll be here, the lot of us, to fetch you at a quarter to. For the sake of all the good horses that ever ran an honest race, be ready—don’t keep us waiting—we’ll be an anxious crowd. And, until then, Miss Norah, I’ll be wishing you good-bye.”
“I also, Miss Norah,” said Mr Carter, taking my hand before I knew that he meant to offer me his. “I am well aware that your near neighbourhood will bring happiness to me, but, at the same time, I would have you clearly realise that I only relinquish the rare privilege of your undivided society throughout the evening for the sake of that harmony which I know you would desire.”
“Miss Norah,” urged Mr Purchase, “do not for one moment suppose that, in self-abnegation, Basil is one whit in front of me. What I suffer by acceding, for the sake of peace, to the compromise which has been suggested, it is possible that you will one day know.”
“It’s you only I’m thinking of, Miss Norah,” declared Mr Rumford. “I needn’t tell you which I’m likely to prefer, to have you all to myself—blissful thought, Miss Norah!—or to—to share you with a crowd.”
Mr Rumford looked about him in a way which certainly was not suggestive of the harmony of which they all were speaking. Major Tibbet joined himself to the chorus, with a simper which ill became him.
“You will judge what my feelings are, Miss Norah, when I tell you that, for your sake, I will consent to dine at seven. I have made it one of the rules of my life never to dine, anywhere, before eight. How long it is since I dined at the abnormal hour of seven, I am unable to say positively, without referring. But so far as my memory serves me—and in matters of such importance I think my memory may be trusted—I say, that so far as my memory serves me——”
“Yes, we know what you say, Tibbet; and you can say the rest to-night. Remember, Miss Norah, a quarter to seven—sharp!”
Mr Hammond thrust his arm through the Major’s and bore him away. The five men all left the room, and I was left alone with the girls and mamma.
Noone spoke a word for quite a minute. The girls and mamma were looking at me—I was conscious of their eyes all over me—and I was looking at the floor. I felt as if I had been guilty of—to say the very least—the gravest impropriety, though I had not the faintest notion how, and was thoroughly well aware that now the storm was about to burst,—which presently it did. Mamma began—in that tone of voice in which she addresses observations to the servants which she dares them to deny. It gives you the impression that she is sitting on the safety-valve, and that in another half-second there will be a blow-up. And there generally is.
“Norah, may I ask you to tell me what is the meaning of the scene which I have just witnessed?”
I smoothed the petals of one of Mr Carter’s roses.
“Really, mamma, you know as well as I do.”
“Please don’t speak to me in that impertinent manner.” Her voice was raised perhaps half a tone. “I insist upon an explanation. Why have these men behaved in so disgraceful a fashion, and what encouragement have you been giving them?”
“Encouragement? I?” I glanced up with what I intended to be my air of perfect innocence. I do not fancy, from the expression which was on mamma’s countenance, that she quite liked the look which was on mine. “Audrey and Doris have been here the whole time. They will be able to tell you what encouragement I have offered.”
“Do you expect me to believe that these men would have given you—you!—the presents which were intended for your sisters, unless you had offered them some extraordinary and disgraceful encouragement?”
“I do not know why they gave the things to me. I am sure I did not want them. I could not have told them so more plainly. I shall have pleasure in handing them over to whoever you think they were originally intended for.”
Doris spoke. She was still sitting on the couch, her arms raised, her hands clasped under the back of her head, her face turned towards the ceiling. Her manner was smilingly acid.
“How nice of you, Norah! And will you really give me Mr Purchase’s red roses, and Audrey Mr Carter’s pink ones, and Lilian Mr Rumford’s bonbons? Eveleen already has Mr Hammond’s gloves, and mamma the Major’s turkey,—at least, she will have, when she picks it up from the floor, since those you declined to accept. How very sweet you are! Think of studying our feelings to that extent.”
Lilian came forward. She looked more disagreeable than any of them. Considering that Mr Rumford’s conduct had been so very unexpected, and that she had made up her mind that it was time that she should marry someone, and that Mr Rumford was the most eligible person who seemed likely to present himself, there was some excuse for her, though I do not think she need have been quite so vicious as she was.
“At any rate, I will have those bonbons. They certainly were not meant for you.”
She positively snatched at the box, which was on the ottoman at my side. I looked up at her with my sweetest smile.
“With the greatest possible pleasure, my dear Lilian. I should not wish to accept anything from Mr Rumford. You know that he is not the sort of person to whom I should care to be indebted in the smallest particular.”
“Then don’t you dare to go to the Gaiety with him to-night!”
“Dare? My dear Lilian, what very odd language you do use. It’s not a question of daring, I can assure you.” I smiled down at Mr Carter’s roses, which I had exchanged for Mr Purchase’s. “It’s not my fault if he prefers to take me instead of you—is it?”
I thought she would have boxed my ears. I feel sure she would have liked to. Eveleen laughed.
“And I suppose,” she said, “that it’s not your fault if they all of them prefer to take you instead of us.”
I kept on smiling at the roses.
“I don’t know why they should prefer it. I haven’t an idea.”
“It is a novel experience, isn’t it?”
“I certainly haven’t been to the theatre with so many gentlemen as you, if that’s what you mean.”
I did not raise my eyes, but I have a suspicion that Eveleen looked at me a little waspishly.
“I wonder if, after all, you are cleverer than we have given you credit for. If so, you have managed to hide your light under a bushel for a good many years. You must excuse my saying so, but you seem this afternoon to have performed a sort of conjuring trick.”
“A conjuring trick? How?”
“You have captured, at a single stroke, the five hearts which, separately and individually, we have been laboriously cultivating, and all the seats which were meant for us; while we—we, alas!—have been left lamenting. Don’t you think yourself that that’s a sort of conjuring trick?”
“You know, Eveleen, men are very fickle.”
“I have had some experience of men, as you have hinted, and I am painfully aware, my dear child, of the truth of that elementary fact in natural history; but I did not know that they were fickle to quite the extent which you suggest. I personally have never before seen them perform a right-about-face quite so rapidly, or quite so impudently either.”
Audrey came and planted herself on the carpet at my feet.
“Let me look at you, Norah. Every marvel, the wise inform us, is capable of a natural explanation; so perhaps this is.” I was conscious that those lovely eyes of hers, which see everything, were subjecting me to a curious scrutiny. “Do you know that there is something different about you somehow. It’s a sort of atmosphere. I’m sensible of it as I look at you. Let me see your eyes.” I did. I saw her breathe more quickly the moment they were fastened on her face. “That’s it! Child, what hankey-pankey have you been indulging in?” She laid her hands upon my knees. “Do you know that there is magic in your eyes, and that you’re prettier than I am?”
“Audrey! Don’t talk such nonsense! As if I didn’t know!”
“I beat you in regularity of feature—in those formal charms which go to the composition of a picture; but there’s magic in your eyes. No man could look at them and remain unmoved. I can’t. They move me quite funnily. I’d like to kiss them, and I’m not a kissing person as a rule. Masculine flesh is much more susceptible than mine. Doris, come here and look at her, and tell me if you don’t see exactly what I mean.”
“I’m much obliged, but I don’t happen to be interested. I have seen too many persons apparently moved by them already. What I want to know is, is Jack Purchase going to be moved by them for ever.”
Audrey had never looked away from my face. Although she might not have been aware of it, in her voice there came a touch of anxiety.
“Norah, you’re not fond of Mr Carter, are you?”
“Well—in a kind of a way.”
“In a kind of a way? What kind of a way? Remember, child, that what is sport to you may be—something else to me.”
I was in a mischievous frame of mind. Each moment the mood was growing on me. What is more, my courage had returned. When I thought of what I had suffered at the hands of those four girls, and realised that now an opportunity had come—though goodness only knew whence, or how, or why!—to pay them back some of their own coin, an imp of malice seemed to enter into me, so that I did not care what I did or said. Ignoring Audrey’s evident earnestness I tried to seem as indifferent as I could.
“I don’t like him as much as I do Jack Purchase.”
“Don’t you, indeed!” retorted Doris, still with her face upturned. “What an altogether delightful person you seem to have suddenly become—such a storehouse of all the sisterly virtues. You have my permission to like Mr Purchase as much as you please; and he is at liberty to like you—if he is that sort of person.”
“It’s ridiculous!” cried Lilian, in that vicious way of hers. “Norah is nothing but a great, ungainly, awkward gawk. She always has been, and always will be. She is as little likely to appeal to a decent man as one of Barnum’s freaks. The only kind of person to whom she is likely to commend herself is such a monstrosity as Crooked Ben.”
When she said that, I went hot all over. I made up my mind that I would show her no mercy, at any rate.
“If that is so isn’t it rather queer that Mr Rumford should prefer my society to yours?”
“He doesn’t, and you know very well he doesn’t. If you suppose he does then you must be a little madder even than I thought, and I am not conscious of ever having rated your intellectual capacity highly. These men have simply combined to make you the victim of a stupid practical joke. They know you are dull, and have traded on that knowledge to a degree for which I readily admit there is no excuse.”
“You think so?”
“Surely you are not going to be such an idiot as to take their tomfooleries seriously? Use your common-sense—or what stands you in the place of common-sense. Has any one of them ever treated you with sufficient civility to enable you to justify to yourself their ridiculous conduct of this afternoon—the preposterous pose they have taken up? On the contrary, haven’t they studiously ignored your very existence—except on those occasions when they have gone out of their way to laugh at you.”
“That’s true enough. I’m afraid they have not been very nice to me—in the past.”
“In the past! Do you consider, then, that they have treated you nicely in the present—this afternoon—just now, for instance?”
“I am of opinion that they have behaved very horridly to us—including Norah. We should be quite justified in never admitting them into the house again. Were I Norah I should signify my resentment of their conduct in a fashion which they would not be likely to forget. However, tastes differ. It is possible that Norah has her own ideas.”
This was Doris. Then came Eveleen—in almost everything she said there was a meaning which was not upon the surface. She is just a mistress of innuendo.
“There are people who would prefer to occupy the peculiar position of a common butt rather than not be taken notice of at all. Perhaps these gentlemen have counted on the fact. In some men the sense of humour takes such an odd direction.”
Audrey showed that she had a clearer insight into the real inwardness of the matter than all the rest of them put together.
“You are wrong—all of you. This afternoon Norah is a witch—she has bewitched them.”
Eveleen sneered.
“Really? What a very simple, lucid, and satisfactory explanation of these gentlemen’s wrong-headedness.”
“Audrey!” cried Lilian. “How can you talk such nonsense? Do you want to make a greater fool of her than she has been made already.”
“Lilian, your temper is such a short one; do keep hold of it. I’m not holding a brief for Norah; but if you come here and look at her eyes, and realise the intangible something which is in the atmosphere which surrounds her, you’ll catch my meaning—for you’re almost as good a judge of that sort of thing as I am!”
But Lilian was not to be persuaded.
“Mamma,” she exclaimed, “why do you allow Audrey to back up those wretched men in their attempts to turn poor Norah’s naturally silly head? Do you consider that their behaviour this afternoon has been creditable either to themselves, or to us, or to you? We are your daughters. Can you not insist on our being treated, at any rate while we are in your house, with at least the elements of common respect?”
Mamma assumed what she meant to be her most dignified air. Her remarks were intended to be both judicial and crushing.
“Lilian, you forget yourself, and me. I have hitherto shown myself capable of watching over my daughters, so far as they have permitted me to do so. Unfortunately, in some directions, the young women of the present day are in advance of their parents. Audrey, I must request you not to make foolish remarks to Norah, who has already been placed in a sufficiently ridiculous position. Norah, I will not comment at this moment on the extremely singular manner in which you have deemed it proper to behave. I find it difficult to credit that I have been witnessing the conduct of a child of my own. But on that subject I shall have plenty to say later; of that you may be sure. In the meantime you will be so good as to understand that I positively forbid you ever to speak to either of these gentlemen again, or to remain, under any circumstances, in a room in which they are. Now you will please to leave this room, and retire to your own.”
She moved on one side, as if she expected me to march right past her then and there. But I didn’t. I put first Mr Carter’s and then Mr Purchase’s roses to my nose, and kept on smiling.
“Never speak to them again? Mamma, what do you mean?”
“I mean exactly what I say; and what I say is intelligible even to you. Now, go.”
“But, mamma, I am going to dine with them, and going to the theatre with them afterwards.”
Mamma came a step nearer. She looked very angry indeed.
“Be careful, Norah, that you don’t go too far.”
“Too far! Mamma, what do you mean? You heard them ask me, press me even—especially Major Tibbet—and the arrangements which were made. They are coming here in a body at a quarter to seven;—and you, Eveleen, must have noticed how Mr Hammond begged and prayed I wouldn’t keep them waiting.”
“Norah, let me advise you not to force me to resort to measures which you will afterwards have serious cause to regret. Don’t defy me! You have not seemed to be a child of mine from the day that you were born. You have been a burden to me and your sisters all along. Your conduct this afternoon is a climax. The limits of my patience are nearly reached. Do as I tell you—leave this room.”
“I’ll leave this room with pleasure. After what you have said I’m hardly likely to be tempted to remain. But before I go I mean to have my say and it’s no use, mamma, your trying to stop me.”
I stood up, a bunch of roses in either hand; and though mamma looked as if she would have liked to annihilate me then and there, I fancy there was something in my appearance which persuaded even her that it might be advisable, just this once, to let me gang my own queer gait. I was so much larger than she was, in every way, that to attempt physical coercion would, obviously, be absurd. And it seemed that no other measures would avail; so I had my say.
“You have it that I have been a burden to you and to the girls. Does it not occur to you that there may be another side to that position, and that you and the girls have been a burden to me? I suggest it with no unfilial intention, or in any spirit of disrespect; but doesn’t it? So far back as I can remember you have never treated me as if I seemed to be your child. You have thwarted my every wish, tried to force me into grooves for which nature has unfitted me, trammelled me wherever I sought expansion. You have always held my sisters up to me as models of all the virtues—as I have not the slightest doubt they are—and you have taught them to regard me as half idiot, half monster. I readily admit that they have been willing pupils, so that I verily believe that you and they have come to look upon me as of different flesh and blood than yourselves—almost as something lower than the beasts that grovel. My life, so far, has been an arid waste. I do not think that during the whole of it I have known a week’s real happiness, which is scant measure when you consider what a good time the girls have always had. You must concede that my turn to have a good time is nearly due. If you do or don’t, it’s come. I present, my dear mamma and sisters, an, I am afraid, unpalatable fact—that my turn to have a good time has come. As Audrey puts it—I’m a witch. I’ve become one in the twinkling of an eye—just as it happens in the fairy tales. You have seen how I bewitched those five men whom you have all been so assiduously courting. Yes—courting; it’s no good any of you looking black—it’s the exact word. In your dexterous, delicate, dainty way you’ve all of you courted every man you’ve ever met. Now, I never courted any man.”
“For reasons,” murmured Eveleen.
“Yes, Eveleen, for reasons; one of them being that you’ve always done your best to make it clear how absurd it would be for me to attempt to court any man who was in the least desirable. Yet now these men have courted me!—you’ve seen it with your own eyes!—to the ruination of your tempers! At sight of me they’ve thrown themselves at my head before your very faces, pressed on me the offerings which were designed for you, implored my acceptance of the seats which you had hoped to occupy. And they have left the house, ignoring your existence—as mine has been wont to be ignored; thinking only of me, looking forward rapturously to the evening they hope to spend in my society. And they shall spend it, too. I’ll sit in all those seats, turn and turn about, one after the other; and I’ll be admired by all the theatre—or, at least, by all the men in it. You wait and you shall see; or, if you don’t see, afterwards you shall hear. It will amuse you hugely, I haven’t the slightest doubt. And I’ll dine with them. You know, mamma, that Major Tibbet can be trusted to order a dinner; and though I mayn’t do it such justice as you would, I’ll do my best. And I should like to see any of you try to stop me. How would you propose to do it? Physically, I’m a match for all of you together. In a muscular sense, I’m a splendid animal. Compared to me you’re like dolls, soft as putty—you pride yourselves on it!—while I’m comparatively as hard as iron. I could drop you out of the window, one after the other, or all together, with the greatest ease.”
Audrey touched my arm.
“Norah, don’t talk like that.”
“I am only putting a purely supposititious case, my dearest Audrey. What is more, if any of you were to seek to stay me with so much as a word, when those men come I’d make my complaint to them; then you’d see what it means for a man to be bewitched by a woman. At a word from me there’s nothing they would not do. I’ve but to raise my finger, and they’d cast what you call decency to the winds. Then you’d see the natural man; it would surprise you. They’re just my slaves. And now that I have made the position clear to you, and my intentions plain, I shall have much pleasure—in leaving you the room.”
I left it. I fancy I left them in rather a curious frame of mind as well.
I donot know that I was wholly proud of myself as I went up to my room—not even so proud as I had led those dear creatures in the drawing-room to suppose. I imagine I must really be an odd kind of creature, because I am not at all sure that it is not vulgar to make man, either in a general or particular sense, the entire end and object of their existence, as so many women—who think themselves very far from vulgar—do. To be perfectly frank, I have no opinion whatever of man. Perhaps that is because he has none of me. Up to the present, he emphatically does not seem to have. But that only places me in the position of the onlooker who sees most of the game. I have seen some games, I give you my word for it. And I have come to the conclusion that man is useful, in his way; generous, sometimes; of service, occasionally, as a husband and a father; and that, as a sort of courier, or Cook’s conductor, looking after the wants, ways, and whims of women, not altogether to be despised. But he is frightfully earthy, and has a most amazing conceit of himself. And why so many women—delightful, charming women—should spend their whole lives in endeavouring to please him, and swell with pride when they fancy they have succeeded in doing so—that is beyond my comprehension.
I was not so clear as I should like to have been that there was not a smack of vulgarity about my passages with those five men. It was undeniably vulgar to crow, as if I had done something to crow about; and I was uncomfortably conscious of a tendency towards an attitude of mind which I should describe as cock-a-doodle. Because, after all, what had I done? Simply caused those five men to behave with peculiar and unpardonable rudeness to my mother and sisters, and—well, not too nicely towards me. For I could not regard it as a compliment that they should hustle each other, and nearly snap each other’s nose off, in their eagerness for my society. Or, rather, if it were a compliment, it was not the kind I cared for. At least, I did not think it was.
Yet—it was amusing. Really funny. When I thought how silly and awkward those men had looked, and of the nonsense they had talked, and of each one’s ridiculous anxiety to appropriate me to himself, I put my hands up to my face and laughed. And then mamma’s and the girls’ faces! their undignified attitudes of disgust, bewilderment, wonder! Oh, dear me, how I did laugh! If they had heard me downstairs they must have been convinced that my brain really was unhinged at last. When I had finished laughing, it did not seem as though I had enjoyed the joke enough. I jumped up, picked up the hem of my skirt, and jigged about the room. I am big and clumsy, and I daresay I do not dance well, but, just then, I danced to please myself. And I pleased myself immensely. It was as though I had suddenly become inspired by the conviction that I was the most delightful creature in the world. It was absurd. I realised at the time it was absurd. But there was the conviction, all the same. And if a girl cannot think well of herself when she has bowled over five men, as if they were nine-pins, when can she? I have known a four foot six woman carry herself as if she were six foot four, merely because some whippersnapper of a boy has asked her to dance twice in a single evening.
Besides, I was not certain that my estimate of myself was so very absurd.
“All the money I have in the world,” I exclaimed aloud, “is two-and-eightpence-halfpenny. I would like to bet every farthing of it, that if a man—I don’t care what man, any man—saw me now he’d fall head over heels in love with me at sight.”
As I looked in the glass I felt convinced that my money would be perfectly safe. I knew it—was sure of it, in fact. As I observed the image which was mirrored there, something told me—I don’t pretend to know what, but something did—that there was not a man breathing who would not desire—with a pretty strong desire too—to stand well in my—I will call them on this occasion only—fair eyes. It was a singular feeling, the more so since it amounted to absolute conviction. I am not conceited—my worst enemy has never called me that. For one thing, I have never had anything to be conceited about. But then I knew, knew! that no man could look at me without desiring me. And in my time such numbers of men have looked at me only to wish that I was at Jericho, or that they were.
It did seem so odd. And it was a queer sensation. I felt as if I had all at once become possessed of some strange, occult, man-compelling power. And I believe I had. That unfinished sentence was still upon the dressing-table. I picked it up, and looked at it, and wondered.
Something about it caught my eye. Before, it had read, “You shall have your wish u—,” and there had stopped. Since I saw it last an “n” had been added; so that it now read, “You shall have your wish un—.” Was the sentence still to be completed? If so, what form would it have in its perfect state?
What had I been wishing? That every man might fall in love with me at sight? Well! was that the one which was to be granted? The gratification of such a wish could hardly fail to provide one with entertainment. And I had had so little entertainment in my time. Was I the victim of hallucination? or the heroine of an up-to-date fairy tale? It did not matter, so long as the hallucination was substantial enough; or the fairy tale as amusing as this one bade fair to be. Let me see: the baker’s boy, the shop-walker, the hairdresser, and these five men. Unmistakably these persons had suddenly seen attractions in me which they had not observed before. To bag eight men during a few fleeting minutes of a single forenoon was not bad sport. And the miscellaneous character of the bag was not the least satisfactory part of it. If matters proceeded as they had begun, there could be no doubt whatever that I should be provided with sufficient entertainment.
In the meantime I must not forget that I was to dine with these five gentlemen. It seemed to me to be rather a large order. I never had dined with a gentleman except in company with members, feminine members, of my own family. And now to be about to dine alone with five! And such a five!
“I cannot say, whatever may be their feelings towards me, that I am the least bit in love with them.” That, to myself, I frankly admitted. “As for Major Tibbet, he’s a person for whom I have no kind of use, and never should have. Yet it seems that he is to be my principal host, at least as far as the dinner is concerned. I should like to know what he fancies he likes in me, since I dislike everything he likes, himself included. Let’s hope that he won’t go on to the theatre with us afterwards. The proceedings at the theatre bid fair to be peculiar. Let me figure it out. Mr Carter has a box, and Mr Purchase hopes to have one. I wonder what will happen if he finds that there isn’t one to be had? Will they come to blows? or will they behave like sensible beings, and agree to share a box—and me? That would certainly be the more reasonable course to pursue. Though I quite understand that when a man has a box all to himself, and a girl alone in it, there are things which he can say with greater ease. I wonder where Mr Hammond’s stall is, and Mr Rumford’s. It is devoutly to be hoped that they are outside stalls, and that each is not the centre of a different row. In that case it must be distinctly understood that the transfer of me is to take place at the end of each act, because if they attempt to haul me from one stall to another in the middle of a scene, there’ll be a scene. Indeed, I think it’s probable there’ll be a scene in any case. Because when the people see me being passed from one man to another, and the four men who haven’t me glaring at the one who has—and I’m afraid they will glare—they’ll begin to take an interest in what is going on, so that the traffic of the stage may suffer. I am convinced that I shall be sufficiently entertained.”
A thought occurred to me, which would have occurred to a sensible girl at the very first. But I am not a sensible girl, and in particular I was very far from feeling sensible just then! So that it only came to me at the tag end, as it were, and then with a sort of a kind of a shock.
“What shall I wear? There’s the black, and the white, and the blue; and they none of them suit me, and they’re all of them old; and I believe that each of them stands in need of repairs. So the outlook’s promising. Now, if my fairy godmother were to clothe me all over with sumptuous raiment, as she did Cinderella, in this the hour of my triumph, that would be something like. I’d dazzle them, that I would. But as that is not likely to happen, I shall have to consider in which of the relics I call my evening gowns I look least beastly.”
I spread all three out upon the bed. And I did not like the look of either. In fact, I objected vigorously to them all. And I always had done, that was the best of it. But until that moment I had not cared much; and no one else had cared either; so it had not mattered. I picked up the black and turned it round and round.
“I believe black tones me down, and I have been told that I need a deal of toning, so perhaps to put myself inside it would be discretion. But the thing never has fitted me, the bodice holds my arms down to my sides like a straight-waistcoat; I’ve torn the skirt three times away from the gathers; it’s only clinging to them now with the aid of a row of pins. So if anyone were to put his arms about me,—which, of course, isn’t for a moment to be thought of—but I have heard that things do happen! There might be a demand for sticking plaster, which I could not possibly supply.”
I put down the black, and took up the white.
“The last time I wore this thing a man tore about three yards off the back and never begged my pardon. It was white; but I think that the moment has almost arrived to begin to call it cream, or écru, or, perhaps coffee-coloured would be the more appropriate word. If it were not that it is all in rags it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s a work of art getting into it, and when I am in I am never sure how much of me is out. In a dress of this sort you want to see both back and front. You’re always haunted by the consciousness that other people can, although you can’t. I’m afraid it mustn’t be the white; though I’m almost sure it’s the one I hate the least.”
I proceeded to examine the blue.
“Blue suits nearly everyone, except this particular shade of blue, which it is impossible to believe suits anyone. I know that when I am in it I look my very worst, and that is saying such a deal. I believe that that’s why mamma gave it to me. When there’s any article of wearing apparel in the house which no one will touch with a pair of tongs, it’s presented to me with a flourish, and I’m expected to be grateful. They have such a primitive way of regarding the matter! ‘You see,’ they say, ‘it’s of no consequence what you wear. You never look well in anything. So what difference can it possibly make!’ If I were to talk to them like that there’d be a clatter. To-night, at any rate, I will not wear the blue.”
I tossed it back upon the bed.
“For the rest, I’ve a gorgeous pair of scarlet silk stockings, which Lilian gave me once, in a fit of frantic generosity, because they were miles and miles and miles too big for her. But I haven’t any shoes which will go with them. I’ve one fairly decent petticoat, so long as you don’t look at it too close. And I’ve a lovely set of undies, I bought them myself with my very own money, because they looked so scrumptious! which I have never dared to wear. I will wear them if for this night only. I don’t think anything else is wanted, in particular. Which is just as well. Because I’m sure I haven’t got it if it is. Oh for that fairy godmother, and the most becoming things in the very latest fashion! Hollo! I wonder if that is the lady?”
The query was prompted by the fact that just then there was a smart tapping at the door.
“Who’s there?”
It was not a fairy godmother; it was Jane, as was made clear by her turning the handle and disclosing herself in the doorway.
“If you please, miss, can I be of any use to you?”
“Any use to me? What do you mean?”
“Well, Miss Norah, I heard that you was going out with them gentlemen; so I thought that perhaps you might like me to help you to dress.”
I stared. I was unused to the ministrations of a maid, and had certainly not expected an offer of the kind from Jane, who was not in good odour with the heads of the family. Indeed, mamma was only keeping her on, because, under present circumstances, if she did go, we should be servantless.
“How did you know that I was going out?”
“Well, miss, you was all of you talking so loud, and the drawing-room door wide open, so that I couldn’t hardly help but hear. If you wouldn’t mind, I should like helping you, Miss Norah. If you’ll excuse my saying so, you never do seem to make the best of yourself somehow. In my last place there was two young ladies, and I used to help them often.”
Jane had a free and easy way of speaking which suggested that in some of the places she had been in the servants had been permitted liberties. But I had a feeling that she was not a bad sort in her way. And then so few people ever do offer to do anything for me, that when anyone does I find it nearly impossible to refuse to let them.
“Really, Jane, I don’t see how you can be of use to me. I’ve only a lot of old things to wear, which I’ve worn dozens and dozens of times before, and anyone could put them on blindfold.”
“Pardon me, Miss Norah, but that’s just where you’re mistaken, as, if you’ll allow me, I very soon will show you. There’s a way of putting on even old things which will almost make people think that you’ve never had them on before. Your sisters, now, work wonders. They can make the same thing look as if it was twenty. I’m sure that I’ve often thought to myself that if they ever was to turn lady’s maids to a lady as wanted to make a large show on a little money, they’d be worth any amount, they would. I’ve never know anyone who made one dress to behave as if it was half-a-dozen, like they can.”
I was not sure that I relished her manner of expressing herself. And when I recalled the spectacle she had herself presented on certain occasions when I had witnessed her sallying forth on her Sundays out, I was inclined to be more than dubious as to her capacity to make the best of me. Yet she seemed, too, so anxious to be of service, and so convinced that I should find her assistance of the greatest value, that I had not the heart to send her packing.
Though I am nearly confident that I should have been wiser if I had.
Jane’sremarks, as she turned my wardrobe over and over, commenting on it critically as she did so, made it almost as clear as possible that in accepting her assistance I had been guilty of an indiscretion. Considering the position in which she was supposed to stand towards me there was a frankness about her which I felt was unbecoming.
“Well, you haven’t got much to wear, and that’s a fact, look at it how you may; and what you have got I’ve seen you in till I should think you was sick of the sight; not that they amounted to anything, even when they was new.”
As I was about to point out, with some severity, that observations of that kind were not likely to assist me to any material extent, she branched off at a tangent.
“I was never out with five gentlemen all at once, not myself I wasn’t. The most I was ever out with was three; and as two of them started fighting before we’d gone very far you couldn’t hardly call that a success. They knocked each other about something cruel—at least, so I was given to understand. So far as I was concerned, I never so much as spoke to them again. Because I always have held, and always shall hold, that when two gentlemen start fighting about a lady out in the open street, right before her very eyes, as it were, they aren’t gentlemen—no, and never won’t be neither.”
Though open to admit that her sentiments might do her credit, I could not perceive their application to the subject in hand. As I was about to drop a hint to that effect, she returned, with a frankness which I again found slightly embarrassing, to the subject of clothes.
“Now, about underneath. I hold that’s it’s no good having a smart gown on if there’s nothing but rags inside. When a party lifts a scarlet satin skirt to show a torn petticoat, and, perhaps, an odd pair of stockings what’s all holes, she might fancy herself, but I never should. I say if it must be a torn petticoat, put it on outside, and the satin skirt underneath, it would be less deceiving. Now, miss, what was you thinking of wearing?”
Jane had not a delicate touch. She framed her inquiries with a directness which was a little appalling. I explained—to her satisfaction. She was even pleased to be enthusiastic.
“Now, if you could only wear them outside, and them wretched, shabby old dresses underneath, that would be something like. It’s a pity, miss, you can’t. Things like them is not meant to be hidden. About them scarlet stockings. As it just happens, I’ve got a pair of scarlet shoes. They was given me by a lady friend for whom they was too large, and they’re a bit too big for me. But they’re about the shade; and I should think, with a little management, they might fit you.”
Some persons might resent such a remark as that. It did not sound complimentary. But I am too well aware that I am, in all respects, beyond the ordinary size of a woman, to be much affected by allusions to the fact. What I did not relish was the notion of getting into shoes which had been transferred from that lady friend to Jane. I wondered dimly what mamma and the girls would say, if it ever came to their ears that such a suggestion had been made. But Jane would listen to nothing. She seemed to have made up her mind to see me through—and see me through she would. Off she went to get those shoes.
So soon as she was gone I meditated a plan for preventing her return. I did not want her shoes, and I did not want her assistance either. I was beginning to be fearful that I should be a bigger fright with her aid than without it. Had there been a key in the door, it would have been easy. But there was not. My bedroom lacked a good many things, one of them being a means of securing it against intruders. It was at the top of the house, right away from the others, on the same floor as the servants’; so that Jane had but to slip through my door, and across to hers.
I did think of putting my foot against the door, and keeping her out like that; but it would have been a brusque method of proceeding, and might have hurt her feelings. After all, she meant well; and, as I have said, so few people ever did mean well towards me, that I found it exceedingly difficult to thwart them when the mood was on them.
Some minutes elapsed before Jane returned. When she did, I was really not in a condition of costume to offer effective resistance of any kind. Time was passing. Mr Hammond had emphasised his request that I would not keep them waiting, but that I would be ready at a quarter to seven; so I was beginning to make as much haste as I could. Besides, I had a sort of feeling that it might be just as well to get through, at least, the initiatory stages, before Jane appeared; her observations did lean so strongly towards the side of candour.
When she entered I was conscious of what I believe people call a qualm, though just what kind of qualm it was, I am not prepared to positively assert. She had not only in her hands a pair of scarlet shoes, but her arms were heaped up with what I had an intuitive perception were assorted specimens of her wardrobe. Did she propose to array me in her splendours? Was I to sally forth with five gentlemen to dinner in Jane’s attire? Were her clothes to flit from seat to seat in the Gaiety Theatre? Did she suppose that any of them would fit me; I was a head taller than she was? Her figure was what I should have described as weedy; I daresay she considered it elegant. My chest was as broad as a grenadier’s—horribly broad! Were not mamma and the girls intimately acquainted with nearly every article of clothing I possessed? Would they not instantly detect upon me the presence of an unaccustomed thing? Would not inquiries be promptly instituted as to where I got it from? Could I answer—Jane?
That she was totally without suspicion that such questions could be chasing each other through my bosom, her observations quickly showed.
“I think that, between us, miss, we shall make you look something like.”
I had no doubt of that whatever; it was that which racked me.
“It isn’t often that you do go out with five gentlemen, all at once, nor anyone else, for the matter of that; so that when you do go, it’s just as well that them five gentlemen should know that they’ve got someone with ’em as everyone was looking at.”
I was not so sure of that, by any means. Momentarily it was becoming clearer that Jane’s point of view was scarcely mine.
“A gentleman friend of mine, he likes colour—pink especial. He’d like to see me pink from head to foot, winter and summer, though for winter it always seems to me to be a trifle cool. I got that hat to suit him. Now, that’s what I call striking!” She held out the article in front of her. “If you try it on, you’ll find it’ll stand out on you. You try it on, Miss Norah.”
I try it on!—Jane’s hat!—That hat! A shiver went all over me, which was not caused by my being at the moment lightly clad. Fortunately, I was not compelled to go to quite those limits, there was a loophole for escape.
“You forget, Jane, that I shall not wear a hat, so I’m afraid it will be no use for me to try it on, especially as time is getting short. Though it’s awfully good of you to suggest it; I’m sure that in that hat I should look striking.”
I was sure. It was a pink silk article, of the picture variety, with a big brilliant pink bow ornamenting it in front, and a huge pink feather running round it, and then drooping over the side. If I went out with that on my head, even the omnibus drivers would make remarks.
Jane seemed to regret my unwillingness to try it on. Possibly, my disinclination to avail myself of her offer did not synchronise with her notions of feminine human nature.
“I was forgetting, miss, as how you could not wear a hat. It seems a pity. I suppose it couldn’t be managed.”
“I am afraid not. You see, I could hardly wear it at dinner; and if I did, they wouldn’t let me into the theatre with it afterwards.”
She laid that nightmare in bilious pink on one side, with a sigh.
“It do seem a pity, it really do! In that hat you’d be noticeable if you was with fifty gentlemen, let alone with five.”
I was convinced of it. I told her so.
“It’s tremendously nice of you to wish to eke out my odds and ends with your lovely things, Jane; but all the same I know I shouldn’t do justice to them, and I think I’d better stick to what is my own.”
“And that’s where you’re wrong, miss—begging your pardon for saying so. Now, there’s a tri-coloured sash. I got it when there was them patriotic goings on, me having a cousin in the militia what got invalided home owing to his drinking habits. That’s something like a sash, that is. You wear it over your shoulder like them Oddfellows—I had a uncle what was one till he got three months for knocking his wife about. After that he joined the Salvation Army for a change—and then you tie it round your waist, and let it hang. It’s a foot wide, and there’s seven yards of it, so there’s plenty for hanging. It would show off one of them shabby old dresses of yours, that it would.”
I realise the truth of this. Still—it was so very showy. The red hit you in the eye, the blue was another case of the wrong shade, the white, one could but hope, had seen whiter days. I could not see my way to imitating the Oddfellows and letting it hang. I broke it to her as gently as I was able.
“It is showy. Certainly no one could help noticing me if I did have it on.”
“I’d defy ’em.”
“So would I. But I’m thinking of wearing my black; and, do you know, Jane, I’m inclined to believe that the less colour I wear the better.”
“I believe in colour; it lights you up.”
“Yes; it lights you up, but it would make me flare. You see, you have such a much more delicate figure than I have.”
“I have been told that I’ve a delicate figure, and it’s no use my denying it. Still, I say this of colour—for everyone—it makes ’em stand out.”
“It does. You’re quite right. Especially a red, white, and blue sash. There’s not a doubt of it.”
“And what I say is, a woman wants to stand out, unless she’s a mere worm, and goodness knows that I’m no worm. The more she stands out the more she’s noticed—and, if she’s any opinion of herself, as she ought to have, notice is what she wants. Now here is something tasty—and full dress. That’s a opera cloak, that is, green silk with yellow stripes. That’s beaver trimming round the edges—real beaver. It’s a bit rusty here and there, but nothing to signify. I call it handsome. It was left to me by an aunt what died. She went about a good deal in society; her husband being a scene painter, and getting her orders for the theatre constant. Nights together she’d sit in the middle of the front row of the stalls in that very cloak, especially when business was a bit slack and they wanted the theatre to seem crowded as it were. Because, as I’ve been given to understand, people what pays won’t go to the theatre unless you can make ’em believe that they can’t get in. My aunt got to be known by that cloak. ‘The lady with the green silk opera-cloak with yellow stripes and beaver trimming’ they used to speak of her as. I’ve only worn it myself two or three times, to dances and such like. Now it would set you off, that would. It’s a little short, perhaps, for you; but I’m told that they’re wearing them short just now.”
It would scarcely have covered my shoulders; but there was a good deal too much of it, for all that.
“Are they? You evidently are better posted in the fashions, Jane, than I am.”
“I take in two fashion-books myself—leastways, there are fashions in them—and see seven.”
“Do you? That explains it. It’s a wonderful cloak; but I have a cloak of my own, though it isn’t much of a one, and I really think I ought to wear it.”
“There’s no ought about it, if you’ll excuse my saying so. You can wear my opera cloak, if you like, miss, and welcome.”
“You’re very, very good, Jane. Suppose we wait till I have finished dressing, and then see how it goes.”
“Very well, miss; as you please. But there’s one thing you’ll have to wear, and that’s those scarlet shoes. You told me yourself that you’d a pair of scarlet stockings, but no shoes to match ’em; so, as far as wearing these goes, it’s a case of have to.”
Apparently it was. The scarlet shoes in question never had been of first-rate quality, and they were not exactly new. It seemed as if the “lady friend” had given them a fair trial before handing them on to Jane. But they were still presentable, and, plainly, in Jane’s opinion, beyond the possibility of reproach. I had refused her hat, her sash, her cloak. I had not the heart to add her shoes to the list of my refusals,—at any rate, without giving them a trial. And it was soon made clear that Jane’s ideas on the subject of a trial were thorough. I got into the stockings, but getting into the shoes was quite a different thing. She pushed, and I pushed; but the scarlet shoes continued to show reluctance to make the acquaintance of my feet. As usual, she commented on the fact in her somewhat painfully plain-spoken fashion.
“Really, Miss Norah, you’ve got a man’s foot—you really have. Reminds me of a cousin of mine who always used to have his boots made specially for him, all on account of their saying that it took two pairs of anybody else’s boots to make him one. Used to work on a farm, he did, which, I have been told, causes the feet to spread.”
“I don’t believe, Jane, it is that which has extended mine!”
“It’s sure and certain something must have; because never before did I see so large a foot upon a lady’s leg, except my grandmother, what went off with dropsy, so that, when she died, her feet was like pumpkins. But these shoes have got to go on somehow, or else I’ll know the reason why.”
It was not necessary for her to institute any inquiry into recondite causes—the shoes went on. With difficulty, it is true, but still they went. And being on, they proved to be not so tight as they might have been—that is, considering. When I think of some of the shoes into which my feet have been compressed, Jane’s might have been regarded as almost loose. She regarded the fruits of her labours with an air of triumph.
“No mistake, you do fill them.”
“I do. It has been my unfortunate experience, on several occasions, to have filled my shoes a little too completely.”
“Can you walk in them?”
I stood up to try. I found that I could, at present. Whether, after having worn them for an hour or two, locomotion might not become more difficult, was another story altogether.
“I shouldn’t care to do a ten-mile tramp in them; but I think I can manage to do all the walking that’s likely to be required.”
If the principal pedestrian exercise which I was likely to have to undergo consisted in passing from seat to seat at the Gaiety Theatre, I ought to be equal to that. Having once succeeded in getting me into her shoes, Jane became positively laudatory.
“They look a fair treat—they do that; what with the stockings and the shoes together. They’re such a perfect match; you couldn’t have matched ’em better, not if you’d gone to a shop to do it.” That was true enough. “And you’re well-shaped, even if you are an extra size.”
That also, from the bottom of my heart, I believed to be true; and, in my moments of most extreme despondency, I was wont to hug the conviction to my bosom. My feet might be large, but then I was large all over; they were not disproportionate; and I am almost convinced that, as Jane put it, they were well-shaped. Indeed, I will go further, and express my opinion that generally I am well-shaped. My limbs are as well moulded as any girl’s need be. I do not see why it should be such a tremendous drawback because the mould happened to be a little bit Titanic.
I bent down—I had to bend some distance—and I kissed Jane.
“You’re tremendously good to me, and I thank you awfully for lending me these very pretty shoes.”
To my amazement, she burst out crying!