GWEN'S POSSESSIONS.
"NONE of these are fit to wear. They can be given away at once," said
Lady Halcot decisively.
Gwendoline had passed a night in her new home, and had risen refreshed,
despite some wakeful periods of restless thought. It seemed to her
already a very long time since she had come to this place. That less
than twenty hours of her residence at the Leys had yet elapsed was
inconceivable.
She had made acquaintance with the massive building, reared in far
back days by Lady Halcot's forefathers, passing through rooms and
ante-chambers and corridors, till mind and memory became confused.
She had gone the round of the stiff ancestral portraits in the state
dining-room, privately wondering which might be termed the ugliest;
for the Halcots were by no means a handsome race. She had stood in the
library, examining the rows of calf-bound volumes, hoping to be allowed
free access to the same. She had had a glimpse of the wide-spreading
gardens and extensive hothouses, and had paced one of the broad
terraces, in full view of the blue ocean.
Also, Gwendoline had already won the hearts of two or three of the
servants by her gentle manner of speaking, more especially the heart
of Spurrell, the maid appointed to wait upon herself. She had made
acquaintance with the pallid and mild-mannered Miss Withers, and had
taken herself severely to task for an irresistible sense of distrust
and almost aversion towards that placid individual. Miss Withers
treated her with such marked and humble politeness! Why could not
she like Miss Withers better? Moreover, she had seen the unfortunate
Conrad, as usual spending half his day at the Leys, and as usual
in difficulties. Conrad Withers did not live in the house, but he
was expected to occupy a certain room during certain hours, and he
received liberal remuneration for a small amount of toil. Miss Withers
had set her heart on seeing him reside at the Leys, in the capacity
of confidential secretary to her ladyship; but this aim was as yet
far from being attained to. Lady Halcot endured him, and no more.
Gwendoline had exchanged a few sentences with the young man, pitying
his bashfulness, and Conrad's head was already turned.
Breakfast had been long ended, when Gwendoline Was summoned to her own
room, there to find Lady Halcot and Spurrell, the whole of her small
wardrobe having been spread out for inspection.
This room was one of the pleasantest parts of Gwendoline's new life,
being large, yet not too large, with a sunshiny aspect, flowers without
and within, choice engravings upon the walls, and abundant comfort in
furniture and fittings-up. Opening into the bedroom was a small and
pretty boudoir, with a davenport and easy-chair near the fireplace,
and an easel in the bow-window. Gwendoline could not but be delighted
with these surroundings, and grateful for the thoughtful care thus
evidenced. She had passed on the whole a very pleasant morning. But it
was something of a shock to her now to hear the decisive order, "All
these may be given away."
Gwendoline said nothing, but her face protested eloquently. Lady Halcot
gave her a careless glance, and continued, "The dress and bonnet that
Miss Halcombe travelled in will do until she has others. These shoes
can be made presentable with good rosettes, but really there is nothing
else. You have the Halcot foot, I see, Gwendoline,—high-instepped. No
evening dress, is there?"
"Mother said I ought to get one, but you told me to come exactly as I
was," said Gwendoline.
"Quite right," said Lady Halcot. "Spurrell, you may fetch the hats and
bonnets to try on."
Then, when the maid was gone, she repeated, "Quite right. I did not
realize that you would not possess a single evening dress, but you did
as I told you. That is simply what I expect, and what I shall expect."
The tone was not hard, but it lacked tenderness. Lady Halcot stood
near the bed, a little shrunken figure, scarcely up to Gwendoline's
shoulder, yet with an indefinable air of dignity and command about her
small person. Gwendoline debated quickly in her mind what to say, and
ended by saying nothing.
"That is what I expect of you," repeated Lady Halcot gravely.
"Precisely the same implicit obedience that I would expect from a child
of my own."
"I should be very sorry to go against your will in anything,"
Gwendoline said, her voice trembling slightly. "I will try to please
you, indeed."
"Yes. I believe you are a good girl. If I had not thought so, I should
not have been so ready to adopt you."
"A good girl," in Lady Halcot's phraseology, meant "a girl who will do
as she is bidden." Gwendoline understood it so.
Lady Halcot turned as Spurrell re-entered, having an armful of
bonnet-boxes. "I had these sent in readiness," she said. "There is
a chip hat with an ostrich feather, which I believe will become you
very well, Gwendoline. Spurrell will find it immediately. I am not so
sure about the bonnets. You must try them on. The dressmaker will be
here in an hour to take orders. I should wish you to have two evening
dresses, one of a soft blue material, which will suit you nicely,
and another of white, trimmed with pink. The blue will be for home
evening wear, ordinarily. I had some idea of a black velvet and crimson
walking-costume, but it is becoming too warm. I have chosen a pretty
brown stuff for every-day wear, and you must have jacket and hat to
match. The second walking-dress I have not yet decided on, but I am
rather thinking of grey,—silk and other material mixed. When you are
thoroughly well set up, I shall consider about giving you an allowance,
but it is better that you should first learn something of my tastes.
That is the hat, Spurrell. Put it on. Now look at yourself in the
glass, Gwendoline. My foresight has proved true, I think. How do you
like it?"
"It is very pretty, thank you," Gwendoline said.
"We will decide upon that, without hesitation. I don't like these
bonnets, Spurrell. I fancied there were others."
"I may have overlooked a box, my lady. I will go and see."
Lady Halcot moved towards the bed. "Your little writing-case and
work-bag are very shabby, Gwendoline. I will supply you with fresh ones
immediately, and these can be sent away."
Gwendoline was startled. "If you please, may I not keep them?" she
asked. "I have had them so long."
"That is the very thing. They are worn-out."
"But, Lady Halcot, my mother gave me the writing-case, and Ruth made
the bag. May I keep them, please?"
"No," Lady Halcot said quietly; and she took both into her own hands.
"I will put them out of sight," pleaded Gwendoline.
Lady Halcot looked steadily at her, and repeated, "No."
"But they are mine!"
"That may be. And you are mine now."
Gwendoline had a hard struggle. Not sorrow only, but passion too rose
high, for this seemed to her unnecessary and tyrannical. The cry of
"Oh, help me, help me!" went up from her heart, and help came.
Lady Halcot, watching, saw the flush subside, and the face grow calm.
"Well?" she said.
"It must be as you wish," said Gwendoline, in a low voice. "One moment,
please."
Lady Halcot yielded both into Gwendoline's outstretched hands. She
would not have done so ordinarily. Gwendoline held them lovingly,
pressed them to her lips, and then gave them back to Lady Halcot, two
bright drops having fallen on the rubbed leather of the case.
"You are a silly child," Lady Halcot said, not in a tone of displeasure.
She left the room, and returned almost immediately, bearing a
silk-lined work-basket and a beautiful little Russian leather
writing-case, both furnished with silver and polished steel fittings.
"These were already waiting for you," she said.
Gwendoline received them with mingled pain and pleasure, touched, yet
not quite comforted.