The clock was striking eight as the young ladies entered the house; but
Dora was allowed to sit up a little longer to see her aunt, Mrs.
Hazleby. It was not long before a loud knock at the door announced
that lady's arrival.
Mrs. Hazleby was a tall bony Scotchwoman, with fierce-looking grey
eyes. She gave Mrs. Woodbourne a very overpowering embrace, and then
was careful to mark the difference between her niece, little Dora, whom
she kissed, and the three elder girls, with whom she only shook hands.
She was followed by her daughters--Harriet, a tall showy girl of
sixteen, and Lucy, a pale, quiet, delicate-looking creature, a year
younger. Rupert Merton was still missing; but his movements were
always so uncertain, that his family were in no uneasiness on his
account.
As Mrs. Woodbourne was advancing to kiss Harriet, a loud sharp 'yap'
was heard from something in the arms of the latter; Mrs. Woodbourne
started, turned pale, and looked so much alarmed, that Anne could not
laugh. Harriet, however, was not so restrained, but laughed loudly as
she placed upon a chair a little Blenheim spaniel, with a blue ribbon
round his neck, and called to her sister Lucy to 'look after Fido.' It
presently appeared that the little dog had been given to them at the
last place where they had been staying on the road to Abbeychurch; and
Mrs. Hazleby and her eldest daughter continued for some time to
expatiate upon the beauty and good qualities of Fido, as well as those
of all his kith and kin. He was not, however, very cordially welcomed
by anyone at the Vicarage; for Mr. Woodbourne greatly disliked little
dogs in the house, his wife dreaded them much among her children, and
there were symptoms of a deadly feud between him and Elizabeth's only
pet, the great black cat, Meg Merrilies. But still his birth,
parentage, and education, were safe subjects of conversation; and all
were sorry when Mrs. Hazleby had exhausted them, and began to remark
how thin Elizabeth looked--to tell a story of a boy who had died of a
fever, some said of neglect, at the school where Horace was--to hint at
the possibility of Rupert's having been lost on the Scottish mountains,
blown up on the railroad, or sunk in a steam-vessel--to declare that
girls were always spoiled by being long absent from home, and to dilate
on the advantages of cheap churches.
She had nearly all the conversation to herself, the continual sound of
her voice being only varied by Harriet's notes and comments, given in a
pert shrill, high key, and by a few syllables in answer from Lady
Merton and Mrs. Woodbourne. The two gentlemen, happily for themselves,
had a great quantity of plans and accounts of the church to look over
together, which were likely to occupy them through the whole of Sir
Edward's visit. Elizabeth was busy numbering the Consecration tickets
for the next day, and Anne in helping her, so that they sat quietly
together in the inner drawing-room during the greater part of the
evening.
When they went up-stairs to bed, Elizabeth exclaimed, 'Oh! that horrid
new bonnet of mine! I had quite forgotten it, and I must trim it now,
for I shall not have time to-morrow morning. I will run to Kate and
Helen's room, and fetch my share of the ribbon.'
As she returned and sat down to work, she continued, 'It is too much
plague to quill up the ribbon as the others have theirs. It will do
quite well enough plain. Now, Anne, do not you think that as long as
dress is neat, which of course it must be, prettiness does not signify?'
'Perhaps I might think so, if I had to trim my own bonnets,' said Anne,
laughing.
'Ah! you do not think so--Anne, you who have everything about you, from
your shoe-strings upwards, in the most complete order and elegant
taste. But then, you know, you would do quite as well if the things
were ugly.'
'If I wore yellow gowns and scarlet bonnets, for instance?' asked Anne.
'No, no, that would not be modest,' said Elizabeth; 'you would be no
longer a lady, so that you could not look lady-like, which I maintain a
lady always is, whether each morsel of her apparel is beautiful in
itself or not.'
'Indeed, Lizzie,' said Anne, 'I cannot say that I think as you do, at
least as far as regards ourselves, I think that it may be possible to
wear ugly things and still be lady-like, and I am sure I honour people
greatly who really deny themselves for the sake of doing right, if
anyone can seriously care for such a thing as dress; but I consider it
as a duty in such as ourselves, to consult the taste of the people we
live with.'
'As your mother said about my hair,' said Elizabeth thoughtfully; 'I
will do as she advised, Anne, but not while she is here, for fear Mamma
should fancy that I do so because Aunt Anne wished it, though I would
not to please her. I believe you are right; but look here, will my
bonnet do?'
'I think it looks very well,' said Anne; 'but will it not seem
remarkable for you to be unlike your sisters?'
'Ah! it will give Mrs. Hazleby an opportunity of calling me blue, and
tormenting Mamma,' said Elizabeth; 'besides, Mamma wished us all to be
alike down to the little ones, so I will make the best of it, and trim
it like any London milliner. But, Anne, you must consider it is a
great improvement in me to allow that respectable people must be neat.
I used to allow it in theory, but not in practice.'
'I do not think I ever saw you untidy, Lizzie,' said Anne, 'except
after a day's nutting in the hanging wood.'
'Oh yes, I could generally preserve a little outward tidiness,' said
Elizabeth; 'besides, a visit at Merton Hall is very different from
every day in shabby old Abbeychurch. No, you must know that when I was
twelve years old, I was supposed to be capable of taking care of my own
wardrobe; and for some time all went on very smoothly, only that I
never did a stitch towards mending anything.'
'Did a beneficent fairy do it for you, then?'
'Not a sprite, nor even a brownie, but one of the old wrinkled kind of
fairies. Old Margaret, that kindest of nurses, could not bear to see
her dear Miss Lizzie untidy, or to hear her dear Miss Lizzie scolded,
so she mended and mended without saying anything, encouraging me in
habits of arrant slovenliness, and if I had but known it, of deceit.
Dear old Margery, it was a heart-breaking thing when she went away, to
all from Winifred upwards, and to none more than to me, who could
remember those two melancholy years when she often seemed my only
friend, when I was often naughty and Papa angry with me, and I feeling
motherless and wretched, used to sit on her lap and cry. Dear old
Margery, it is a shame to abuse her in spite of the mischief her
over-kindness did us all. Well, when our new maid came, on the
supposition that Miss Woodbourne took care of her own clothes, she
never touched them; and as Margaret's work was not endowed with the
fairy power of lasting for ever, I soon grew as ragged as any
ragged-robin in the hedge. Mamma used to complain of my slovenliness,
but I am afraid I was naughty enough to take advantage of her
gentleness, and out-argue her; so things grew worse and worse, till at
last, one fatal day, Papa was aware of a great hole in my stockings.
Then forth it all came; he asked question after question; and dear kind
Mamma, even more unwilling to expose me than I was myself, was forced
to answer, and you may suppose how angry he was. Oh! Anne, I can
hardly bear to think of the stern kindness of his voice when he saw I
was really quite wretched. And only think how kind it was in him, he
spoke seriously to me, he shewed me that building the church, helping
our poor people, even Mamma's comforts, and the boys' education, depend
upon home economy; and how even I could make a difference by not
wasting my clothes, and making another servant necessary.'
'Then could you really gain neat habits immediately?' asked Anne;
'there could be no doubt of your resolving to do so, but few people
could or would persevere.'
'Oh! I am not properly tidy now,' said Elizabeth, opening a most
chaotic table-drawer, 'see, there is a proof of it. However, I do not
think I have been shamefully slovenly in my own person since that
explosion, and I have scarcely been spoken to about it. Who could
disregard such an appeal? But, Anne, are you not enchanted with sweet
Mrs. Hazleby?'
'I wish you would not ask me, Lizzie,' said Anne, feeling very prudent,
'you know that I know nothing of her.'
'No, and you never will know enough of her to say such savage things as
I do,' said Elizabeth, 'but at any rate you saw her when she came in.'
'Certainly.'
'I mean the kissing; I am sure I am glad enough to escape it, and
always think Mamma and the children seem to be hugged by a bear; but
you know making such distinctions is not the way to make us like her,
even if we were so disposed. Oh! and about me in particular, I am
convinced that she thinks that Mamma hates me as much as she does, for
she seems to think it will delight her to hear that I am thinner than
ever, and that such bright colour is a very bad sign, and then she
finishes off with a hypocritical sigh, and half whisper of "It can be
no wonder, poor thing!" trying to put everyone, especially Papa and
Uncle Edward, in mind of my own poor mother. I declare I have no
patience with her or Harriet, or that ugly little wretch of a dog!'
In the mean time, Katherine and Helen were visiting their guests,
Harriet and Lucy Hazleby, whom, contrary to Elizabeth's arrangement,
Mrs. Woodbourne had lodged in the room where her own two little girls
usually slept. Harriet was sitting at the table, at her ease, curling
her long cork-screw ringlets, with Fido at her feet; Lucy was unpacking
her wardrobe, Katherine lighting her, and admiring each article as it
was taken out, in spite of her former disapprobation of Harriet's style
of dress. Helen stood lingering by the door, with her hand on the
lock, still listening or talking, though not much interested, and
having already three times wished her guests good night. Their
conversation, though not worth recording for any sense or reflection
shewn by any of the talkers, may perhaps display their characters, and
add two or three facts to our story, which may be amusing to some few
of our readers.
'Oh! Lucy,' cried Harriet, with a start, 'take care of my spotted
muslin, it is caught on the lock of the box. You always are so
careless.'
Katherine assisted Lucy to rescue the dress from the threatened danger,
and Harriet continued, 'Well, and what do you wear to-morrow, Kate?'
'White muslin, with pink ribbons,' said Katherine.
'I have a green and orange striped mousseline de laine, Mamma gave only
fifteen-pence a yard for it; I will shew it to you when Lucy comes to
it, and you will see if it is not a bargain. And what bonnets?'
'Straw, with ribbon like our sashes,' said Katherine. 'Oh! we had so
much trouble to get--'
'My bonnet is green satin,' said Harriet, 'but if I had been you, Kate,
I would have had Leghorn. Wouldn't you, Lucy?'
'Five Leghorn bonnets would have cost too much,' said Katherine, 'and
Mamma wished us all to be alike.'
'Ah! she would not let you be smarter than her own girls, eh, Kitty?'
said Harriet, laughing.
'I had been obliged to buy a very nice new straw bonnet at Dykelands,'
said Helen, 'and it, would have been a pity not to use that.'
'Well, I have no notion of a whole row of sisters being forced to dress
alike,' said Harriet; 'Aunt Mildred might--'
Here Lucy stopped her sister's speech, by bringing the gown forward to
display it. When Harriet had sufficiently explained its excellence she
began, 'So your cousin, young Merton, is coming, is he?'
'Yes,' said Katherine, 'we expected him last night, or in the course of
this day, but he has not come yet.'
'Well, what sort of a young fellow is he?' said Harriet.
'Very clever indeed,' said Katherine.
'Oh! then he will not be in my line at all,' said Harriet; 'those
clever boys are never worth speaking to, are they, Lucy?'
'Do you like stupid ones better?' said Helen.
'Capital, isn't it, Lucy?' cried Harriet; 'I did not mean stupid; I
only meant, clever boys, as they call them, have no fun, they only
read, read for ever, like my brother Allan.'
'I am sure Rupert is full of fun,' said Katherine.
'Oh, but he is quite a boy, is not he?' said Harriet.
'Nineteen, and at Oxford,' said Katherine.
'Oh! I call that quite a boy--don't you, Lucy?' said Harriet; 'is he
handsome?'
'Yes, very,' said Katherine.
'Not like his sister, then, I suppose,' said Harriet.
'Oh! do not you, think Anne pretty?' said Katherine.
'I do not know--no, too small and pale to suit me,' said Harriet.
'Rupert is not like Anne,' said Katherine, 'he has a very bright pink
and white complexion, and light hair.'
'Is he tall?'
'No, not so tall as your brother George, but slighter. He has had two
of his front teeth knocked out by a stone at school,' said Katherine.
'What a fuss they did make about those teeth!' muttered Helen.
'Was that the school where Horace is?' said Harriet.
'Yes,' said Katherine, 'Sandleford.'
'How you must miss Horace!' said Lucy.
'Poor little fellow, yes, that we do,' said Katherine, 'but he was so
riotous, he would pull all my things to pieces. Nobody could manage
him but Lizzie, and she never minds what she has on.'
'What a tear he did make in my frock!' said Harriet, laughing; 'didn't
he, Lucy?'
'How tired you look, Lucy,' said Helen, 'I am sure you ought to be in
bed.'
'Oh no, I am not very sleepy,' said Lucy, smiling.
'I am dead tired, I am sure,' said Harriet, yawning; 'it was so hot in
the railway carriage.'
'Cannot the rest of those things be put away to-morrow morning,
Harriet?' said Helen.
'Oh!' said Harriet, yawning, 'there will not be time; Lucy may as well
do them all now she has begun. How sleepy I am! we walked about London
all the morning.'
'Come, Helen,' said Katherine, 'it is quite time for us to be gone; we
must be up early to-morrow.'