"I am quite sure that my papa will be pleased with your looks," said
little Ruby, artlessly, when her mother had gone out and left them
alone to the doll's dressmaking. "He likes pretty faces as well as I
do. He hates Celine and the chambermaid both, because, as he says, they
are 'so deucedly ugly.'"
"I suppose papa loves his little pet very much," said Golden, smiling
sadly at the little one's prattle.
"Yes, indeed," said Ruby. "He gives me oceans of pretty things. But
I do not see him much, only an hour after dinner. You see, papa and
mamma are both very gay. They always go out in the evening to balls or
operas."
Before the dinner hour Celine made her appearance with a large, white
bib-apron and neat cap for Golden's use.
"My mistress sent you these," she said, not unkindly. "Shall I show you
how to use them, or do you know already?"
"You will please show me," the girl answered, gently.
Celine brought combs and brushes and arranged the bright, shining
hair in a thick plait which she wound about the small head and pinned
securely with hairpins.
"_Ma foi_," she said, unable to repress an involuntary tribute of
admiration, "you have the most beautiful hair I ever saw."
"Yes, and it's a shame to put a cap on it," cried Ruby. "I think
mamma is very unkind to me, I did not want Mary Smith's beautiful hair
covered!"
"Fie, my little lady, what a funny-looking nurse-maid she would be
without her little cap," cried Celine, as she put the last touches to
the bib and cap.
"Thank you," said Golden, as she gave a timid glance into the swinging
mirror.
Celine noted the little incident with feminine quickness, and smiled.
"Should you know yourself again?" she asked.
"It makes a great difference in my appearance," little Golden replied.
"But it does not make you any less pretty," declared Celine. "When
your hair hung down it hid all your neck. Now I see that your ears are
as pretty as sea-shells, and your neck as white as snow. You are too
good-looking for your place, Miss Smith."
"And you are too ugly for yours!" put in Ruby, sharply.
"Hold your tongue, Miss Pert," said the French maid, with an ugly
frown. "It's a deal better to be an ugly servant than a pretty one in
this place, and so Miss Smith will find out before long. Not as I says
it out of spite for the poor thing. She's to be pitied, being _your_
nurse," pronounced Mademoiselle Celine as she flitted out of the room,
seeing that Golden made her no answer. Indeed the poor girl did not
know what to say. She was puzzled and frightened over the maid's pert
innuendoes, but she did not in the least comprehend what she meant.
When Celine was gone she looked into the minor again and then at the
portrait on the wall. The hot tears came into the great, blue eyes and
blinded them.
"Oh, Bert," she whispered inaudibly, "would you know me, would you love
me in this strange and altered guise?"
"You must do my hair over before dinner, Mary," said the little girl.
"I always dine with mamma and papa when they have no company. You will
go with me and stand behind my chair while I am eating, to attend to my
wants."
Golden gave a gasp of mingled pride and dread.
"Must I indeed do that?" she asked.
"Oh, yes, all my nurses do that way," said the child. "Now, Mary, I
must have my hair curled over, and dress for dinner just as mamma does,
you know."
Golden found that she had a most exacting little mistress. Although
frail and diseased, the little creature never allowed her active mind
and thin, little body one moment's rest.
She was always flying from one thing to another, and kept everyone
about her attending to her whims and fancied wants. Yet, in spite of
her capricious exactions, Golden could not help being drawn to the
child.
The dark eyes, and the proud, sweet mouth so like those of the man she
loved, won her in spite of herself.
At dinner, where she stood droopingly behind little Ruby's chair, the
master of the house did not even glance toward her, so that she had a
fair chance to observe him from under her heavy, curling lashes.
The scrutiny did not satisfy her, although she could not have told how
it chanced, for Mr. Desmond was faultlessly handsome.
He had a fair, effeminate face, full of languid passion, and those
large, long-lashed gray eyes which can shoot the most killing glances.
His hair was parted in the middle with scrupulous exactness. His dress
was elegant to the verge of foppishness, and a magnificent diamond
sparkled on his white hand.
His wife and little daughter seemed to regard him with the most
admiring affection, which he accepted with a bored and rather
patronizing air.
When the long and ceremonious dinner was over, little Ruby sprang down
from her chair and caught his hand.
"Come, papa, come, mamma," she cried, "you must go to the nursery now."
They went away with her, and when Golden returned to the nursery later,
she found the little girl sitting on her father's knee, and chatting
volubly to him, while Mrs. Desmond was nowhere to be seen.
Ruby jumped down from her perch and ran to Golden.
"Papa," she said, evidently referring to some subject they had been
discussing. "I will show it to you, and you will say that I am right."
With a quick, deft motion, she pulled the cap from Golden's head, and
loosened the braid so that the curling, rippling mass of gold fell in
a shower of beauty over the girl's shoulders. Then she cried out in
gleeful triumph:
"Isn't it lovely, papa? Did you ever see such a pretty nurse."
Mr. Desmond looked in amazement at the blushing, shrinking girl, and
murmured inaudibly:
"Ye gods, what a perfect beauty!"
At that moment the brilliant brunette, Mrs. Desmond, swept into the
room with a waft of exquisite perfume, her diamonds glittering, her
rich silk and laces rustling majestically, a white satin opera cloak
folded gracefully around her white shoulders.
She looked at Golden so wrathfully that it froze the quick murmur of
irrepressible admiration on her lips.
"Girl, what does this disordered appearance mean? Why is your hair down
after my strict orders?" she demanded, angrily.
"Your daughter pulled it down, madam," Golden answered, with outward
dignity and quietness, though she was inwardly chafed and deeply
wounded.
Mrs. Desmond turned round in a gust of passion and gave Ruby a ringing
slap on the cheek with her white, jeweled hand.
"Take that, and behave yourself better the next time," she cried,
sharply.
Ruby ran, screaming, to her father, and Mrs. Desmond cried out
impatiently:
"Come, Mr. Desmond, the carriage is waiting. Mary, put the child to
bed. Good-night, Ruby."
She bent to kiss the child good-night, but Ruby pushed her away with
an angry scream, and ran to hide her face in Golden's skirts.
Mrs. Desmond turned away, followed by her husband, who said
reproachfully as they passed from the room:
"You were needlessly cruel to the poor little thing Edith, my dear."