A DISCUSSION ABOUT A WEDDING-GOWN
The discussion about Jane's wedding-gown began in that pleasant hour
between tea and dinner on the soft edge of the dusk, when the
refreshing influence of tea still pervades one, when the fire seems to
burn its brightest, when the clock ticks its softest, when the little
shadows begin to creep into the corners of the room, and the familiar
furniture and ornaments become a soft, rounded blur.
Nanty had been persuaded into staying for a real long evening; and John
had been persuaded, against his better judgment, into putting up his
horses at the "Ring o' Bells," and was in the kitchen saying pleasant
and pacifying things to Amelia, no doubt.
"We shall be held up by highwaymen. John will be gagged and thrown
into a ditch, and my pockets will be rifled and my jewellery stolen."
Nanty said this resignedly, nay almost cheerfully, as though a change
from the ordinary routine of life would not be unacceptable to her.
And mother gazed at her in fearful admiration. Heroism in any form
appeals strongly to mother, though she herself is the bravest of the
brave. To have lived with Peter for twenty-five years denotes some
courage.
Nanty's pleasure on hearing of Jane's engagement was cloaked by a
pretence at surprise and pity; but of course we all know Nanty. She
had been very kind to Jane when she lived with us. "Above the ruck of
ordinary governesses," she had pronounced. "Not always on the look-out
for slights and snubs; a most sensible young person!" Now the sensible
young person was anxious to tell her herself of the happiness which had
come into her life, and had requested mother and me to keep silent on
the subject "if we _could_." She had, however, conceded to our earnest
request that the announcement should be made in our presence after the
men had gone out. We knew that Nanty's observations would be amusing,
and we looked forward to a pleasant half-hour. When tea had been
removed Peter seemed inclined to linger, notwithstanding the
unnecessary number of women around him. The arm-chair which he had
annexed--(Dimbie's)--was luxurious, the fire was warm, his temper was
mild. Dimbie seemed still more inclined to linger. The rug on which
he was stretched was curly and soft, his hand sought mine, he liked and
was always entertained by Nanty. Mother and I looked at one another
and looked at Jane, and curbed our impatience. Mother glanced at Peter
and opened her mouth and shut it again. The courage of Horatius was
not within her this day. I did the same at Dimbie.
"What is it, dear?" he asked. "Aren't you comfy? Shall I alter your
pillow?"
I assured him that I was perfectly comfortable, and at the same time
ventured to suggest that it was a lovely evening on which to take a
walk. Jane's approaching marriage could not be discussed before two
men when one of them was Peter; for Nanty was never talkative before
Peter, she said he always roused her temper to such a pitch that she
could scarcely get her breath.
Dimbie agreed with my view of the evening's attractiveness, and
stretched his legs luxuriously towards the fire.
I mentioned that the birch trees in the spinny would be at their best,
dressed out in all their autumn glory.
He again agreed with me, and remarked that their grey boles was what
peculiarly appealed to him--grey with the vivid splashes of orange and
red leaves above.
The others began to look bored.
I mentioned that the squirrels would be busy gathering and storing
acorns for the winter.
He said he thought it was within the range of possibility, and he put
more coal on the fire.
Mother folded her hands and looked resigned, and Jane took some
needlework from her basket.
"Why don't you say what you want?" said Nanty suddenly. "Men don't
understand hints and beating about the bush. They are simple-minded
creatures--some of them. Do you want your husband to fetch you some
chocolate from the village?"
Dimbie looked at me inquiringly.
"I want you to go for a walk for an hour, and take father with you and
show him the beauties of the spinny. And you might take a basket and
get some blackberries."
Mother's startled and amazed countenance at the idea of Peter's going
blackberrying made me laugh, and Dimbie's reproachful face moved me to
pity.
"Well, Peter might go blackberrying alone and you to see the
squirrels," I said confusedly.
And now Nanty laughed outright, and mother sat horror-stricken, gazing
at Peter. But he by a merciful dispensation of Providence, was dozing
which was a lucky thing for me.
Dimbie got up slowly and stretched himself.
"Come on, General Macintosh," he said resignedly, but Peter dozed on.
Dimbie patted his leg, unfortunately the gouty one, and Peter started
up swearing loudly.
"We've got to go for a walk," said Dimbie apologetically.
"Who's got to go for a walk?" demanded Peter fiercely.
"You and I. We have to go blackberrying and see the squirrels."
The look which Peter gave to Dimbie obliged me to press my mouth
against the tortoise's back to keep from screaming.
Peter sat down heavily.
"I don't know whether you think you are being funny, sir, but I don't.
To wake a man up from a much-needed sleep to talk about da--ahem,
squirrels and blackberries seems to me to be about the most deucedly
idiotic thing--"
"Hsh, father!" I said. "Dimbie wants you to go for a walk with him to
the spinny. It's a lovely evening, and you might just happen to come
across some squirrels and blackberries."
"But I don't _want_ to see any squirrels or bl----"
Dimbie took him by the arm and began gently to drag him towards the
door. "Come on," he said coaxingly, "we've got to go somewhere,
General. They want to get rid of us. Women are----" and Peter was so
interested in hearing what Dimbie thought of the senseless creatures,
that he actually followed him into the hall, allowed himself to be put
into his top coat, and led through the door, down the path and out of
the gate.
"You can take a breath, mother, dear," I said, "or you will suffocate.
And now, Jane, tell your news, they won't be back under an hour."
She drew a thread from the linen tea-cloth she was making with
unswerving fingers, but the colour crept into her cheeks.
"She looks as though she were making bottom drawer things," remarked
Nanty dryly.
"And that's exactly what she is doing."
"Oh! For herself?"
"Well, she'd hardly bother to make them for other people."
"I disagree with you. Miss Fairbrother is exactly the sort of kind
person who would like to see a friend's drawer filled with a lot of
feminine frippery."
"This is for her own," I returned. "Go on, Jane."
She put down her work.
"You seem to be telling, so you had better finish, Marguerite."
"You mean you are too shy. Well, Nanty, Jane is to be married next
month. Guess to whom. You shall have three tries."
Nanty sniffed superciliously.
"I should have thought she would have had more sense. To an Indian
rajah who lives in a gilded palace?"
"Wrong."
"To a man in the Service with a small pension, an enlarged liver,
residing at Brighton and requiring a kind nurse?"
"Wrong again."
"To a widower--perhaps the father of the two sticky children you
mentioned to me?"
"The mother is alive and extremely healthy," said Jane.
Nanty leaned back in her chair.
"I only hope the man is as nice as can be expected or hoped for. Miss
Fairbrother has the appearance of a woman who would throw herself away
upon a rake, hoping to reform his morals and save his soul."
Jane smiled.
"Do you think that Dr. Renton's soul is in danger?"
Nanty checked a gasp of surprise.
"I have always felt that he was a man with a hidden--something. I have
wondered about it," she said, recovering herself.
"Most women wonder at single men, and they wonder still more when they
are married," said mother.
"Who," I asked, laughing, "the women or the men?"
"Oh, the women!"
She spoke with an earnestness that recalled Peter and his blackberrying
to my mind, and I laughed again.
"Men," said Nanty, "are necessary for the continuation of the race. I
cannot see that they are of any other use in the world."
"Now I am waiting for your opinion, Marguerite," said Jane with a
twinkle. "I should like to have no illusions about man before I marry
him."
"I am not to be drawn," I returned. "There are men and men. The two
looking for squirrels at the moment are extreme types. Perhaps there
is something half-way between, and you may be fairly fortunate."
Jane smiled with a satisfied air.
"You have not congratulated me," she said to Nanty. "It is usual, I
think."
"I don't congratulate people on marriage."
"You are a cynic."
"No, but my eyes are open; there was a time when they were closed like
yours."
"It is a pity," said Jane softly. "I hope mine will always remain
shut."
"Let us hope so," returned Nanty a little bitterly.
"I thought we were to discuss Jane's wedding gown," said mother
plaintively, bringing us back to actualities.
She fetched two big bundles of patterns from a side-table and handed
them to Jane.
"Before we begin," said the latter, turning again to Nanty, "won't you
change your mind and congratulate me?"
"I'll congratulate Dr. Renton, if that will satisfy you."
"But it won't. I think I am quite as much, if not more, to be
congratulated than he."
"Now you are being humble," said Nanty whimsically, "and I don't like
humility in a woman. A woman should always remember that she is quite
good enough for any man living." And with that Jane had to be
satisfied.
And what a discussion followed as to the gown Jane should wear on the
great day. We might have been schoolgirls. And the trouble was that
no two of us agreed on any single point--colour, material, or fashion
of making. When mother had soared away to silver gauze posed on
chiffon, Jane said--
"Kindly remember my age, and that I am going to a wedding and not to a
ball."
When Nanty even, roused to enthusiasm, had completed a dream of a
princess gown of softest pastel-blue, chiffon velvet, Jane said--
"Kindly remember that I am small and dumpy."
And when I extolled the virtue of palest mauve taffeta, Jane simply
laughed outright and asked me to look at her colouring.
"I'm looking," I said. "You've brown hair and bright red cheeks."
But she ignored all our suggestions.
"I shall be married in silver-grey poplin," she pronounced.
"Exactly like a servant." Nanty closed her eyes. "They always wear
silver-grey. I had three parlour-maids in succession who had selected
it for their wedding-gowns."
"But alpaca, surely! Mine will be silk poplin of a good quality."
But Nanty and mother refused to take any further interest in the
subject, and Nanty picked up a paper.
"What about grey cloth, then--pale dove-grey?" Jane waived the silver
poplin with an apparent effort.
Nanty put down the paper.
"Grey cloth with chinchilla is rather nice," she admitted grudgingly.
"I did not mention chinchilla," said Jane meekly.
"_I_ will give the chinchilla as a wedding present if you don't mind.
Grey cloth alone would be most uninteresting."
"The coat must be a bolero," said mother firmly, "lined with white
satin."
"You are all evidently going to run me into a lot of money. I am not
accustomed to satin linings. I thought of having Italian cloth."
"What?" shouted mother and Nanty.
"Italian cloth," repeated Jane firmly. "I hope to do the whole thing
for about five pounds."
"_Impossible!_" said Nanty. "Fifteen would be mean and skimpy."
Jane set her mouth good-humouredly.
"Then I can't get married."
"No, you evidently can't," agreed Nanty. "It would be unfair to the
man."
"It's a pity," observed Jane, "because I rather wanted to."
"A foolish desire on your part which should be checked at once."
Mother began to look worried. With a desire to cheer her up I casually
inquired of Nanty if she had seen anything more of Professor Leighrail.
I was unprepared for her dropping the patterns about like chaff in a
wind.
"Professor Leighrail!" said mother, with widely-open eyes.
"Anastasia's old lover?"
"Exactly," I replied. "He's a friend of ours, and Nanty met him here
the other day. Have you seen him again?" I asked.
She did not reply.
"It is a pity when deafness overtakes people--the first sign of old
age."
"She is not deaf," said mother, "and is only fifty-one."
I laughed.
"Kiss me, mother, dear," I said, "you are so practical at times. And
yet some people of your age are quite romantic and sentimental."
"La, la, la, la!" sang Nanty. She leaned over my couch. "Marguerite,"
she said, "I should slap you if you were strong and well."
"But I'm not," I said, "so kiss me." And she did so, while whispering
that the Professor _had_ been to tea with her. "It's not proper," I
said, and Nanty laughed.