"I shall be very glad to go to my room," I said.
Tottie preceded me up the shallow stairs. She ushered me into a large
bedroom supplied with every modern comfort. It was getting well on into
April now, but a bright fire burnt in the grate, and the room was
further rendered cheerful with electric light. I had the key of my
old-fashioned trunk in my pocket, so it was not yet unpacked; but to my
surprise two dinner dresses lay on the bed. One was of soft creamy
silk; the other pink, a kind of almost transparent muslin. Both were
simple in outline and graceful. Even a brief glance showed me that they
were exquisitely finished, and must have cost a large sum. Beside the
dresses lay gloves, a fan, small shoes, and delicate openwork stockings.
In a box were some beautiful freshly-arranged flowers, a spray for the
hair, and another for the front of the dress.
"Oh dear, dear!" exclaimed Tottie. She rushed to the bed and stood
silent, the colour mounting high into her cheeks. "That accounts for
it," she said, when she could find her astonished breath. "That
accounts for the mysterious box, and for papa's manner. Does papa take
you to the dressmaker, Miss Lindley? How very, very odd that he should
superintend your toilet!"
Tottie looked at me with intense curiosity as she spoke. I knew that my
cheeks were burning, and that a burst of angry words was crowding to my
lips. With a violent effort I restrained them.
"Your father is very civil," I said, after a pause. "He has evidently
fetched this box home. I am much obliged to him for his trouble. Now
perhaps, Miss Gray, you will let me get ready for dinner?"
Tottie blushed and stepped away from the bed as if my manner half
frightened her.
"Of course," she said. "I forgot how time was flying. But can I do
nothing to help you? Shall I send Dawson, our maid, to you presently to
help you to put on one of your pretty dresses?"
"No, thank you," I replied. "I always prefer to dress myself."
With some difficulty I saw Tottie out of the room. Then I locked the
door, and with a violent effort kept my hands from tearing those pretty
and dainty robes. My heart was full of the most ungovernable anger. I
felt that kind-hearted Mr Gray had offered me an insult. I must be
sacrificed, and Mr Gray must deck me for the altar. No, no, not quite
that; not this lowest depth of all. How thankful I was that I had my
mother's wedding-dress in my trunk.
I dressed myself slowly and with care. I was determined to look well.
I was determined to show Mr Gray that Rosamund Lindley was not
altogether dependent on him for her chance of looking nice--for looking
what she was, on her mother's side at least, a lady of old family and
proud descent.
Remembering Hetty's advice, I piled my dark hair high on my head; then I
put on the dainty silk stockings and shoes with their funny pointed
toes; the rich embroidered petticoat came next; over all, the dress.
The skirt was very full, but the silk was so soft and rich that it fell
gracefully. It showed a peep of my shoes, with their seed pearl
ornaments, as I walked. Behind, it was cut away in a pointed train. My
mother's wedding-dress fitted me to perfection. The old ruffles of
lovely lace lay softly against my young throat. More ruffles of lace
half concealed half showed my arms. I did not need bracelets, and I
clasped no ornament of any kind round my neck.
As I was completing my toilet the dinner gong sounded solemn and loud
through the house. I had heard the hall-door bell ring two or three
times. I knew that the guests had arrived. Still I lingered, putting
final touches. At the last moment I pinned a bunch of the softest blush
roses, which must have come straight from the Riviera, in the front of
my dress. There was no need to add anything further. A glance in the
mirror revealed to me that the roses which lay near my heart matched in
hue those which tinted my cheeks. For the time being I was beautiful--I
was a picture, a walking picture out of long ago. I was glad to be the
last to enter the drawing-room. I wanted to startle Mr Gray; to show
him that he had presumed. I had no thought to give to any one else at
that moment.