I looked out of my window this morning and the trees glistened prettily
in the sunlight. I could not help thinking of the Fairy Godmother. But I
mustn’t think these thoughts. I am a grown-up person of eighteen. Though
it doesn’t matter what I write here, as I am never going to show this
diary to anybody, not even to the beloved Mumsie.
After breakfast we, that is, Mumsie and I, set out on a shopping
expedition. I knew them all by name: Horace’s, Lewis’s, and Carlisle’s;
I had at home pored over their advertisements so often. And just to
think I was really going to visit them and buy lots of things! Dad had
given me one hundred dollars, saying I must dress myself properly. One
hundred dollars! I have never before had so much money to spend. Poor
Dad! he must find it so dull living in the country, and his patients are
such poor pay.
We went to Lewis’s first and bought an evening dress and the duckiest
little hat that ever was, and after that we went to Horace’s. This I
knew was really the fashionable shop. Mumsie said we were to buy a suit;
she said I would need one. Indeed, I already felt I was shabby, and was
sorry I had not put on my new hat at Lewis’s and had my old one sent
home.
I gasped as we entered Horace’s, the dresses were all so grand, and
there were so many ladies present. No person paid any attention to us at
first; but when they did they looked at Mumsie first and then at me, and
their eyes (I think) lingered on me.
After we had made our purchases, Mumsie took me to a ribbon counter, not
far away from a most beautifully dressed woman. Her ermine stole did not
hide a diamond and sapphire brooch at her throat. Her blue velvet suit
was in the latest fashion. She was large and dark. Her face was rounded,
and lofty eyebrows made her eyes appear prominent. A cold, deliberate
manner gave the impression of absolute control. She bowed to Mumsie and
my heart went into my mouth. I am silly to be so fluttered and shy. The
strange lady advanced and held her hand out to Mumsie.
“How do you do Mrs. Somers? How is Mr. Somers? I hope you are all well.”
“Quite well, thank you,” replied Mumsie, not too genially I thought.
“You will take a hand in our Ragamuffins’ Feast, won’t you?”
“Certainly, I would not miss for the world,” answered Auntie.
Mumsie’s manner was more formal than I had yet known her use, and it
struck me the lady had something on her mind.
“I suppose you are doing your Christmas shopping early out of
consideration for the help.”
“No, not exactly,” replied Mumsie, “I am helping my friend here. Elsie,
let me introduce you to Mrs. Lien. This is my niece, Elsie Travers, who
is to spend the winter with me. She is a debutante.”
Mrs. Lien flashed me a critical glance, and said rather grandly: “I have
no doubt Miss Travers will enjoy herself. It must be very interesting
getting her outfit.”
When she had gone I wondered whether her manner had wounded or gladdened
me. I had received something of a shock.
At dinner I said to Uncle: “Who is Mrs. Lien?”
Uncle repeated the question with a smile growing on his lips and the
merriest twinkle in his eyes.
“My dear, one would think you were Mrs. Grundy herself,” laughed Mumsie,
“by the severe way in which you asked the question.”
“Mrs. Lien is a Yankee; so we know nothing of her antecedents. She is
the wife of Stephen Lien, who on his part,” said Uncle slowly “is the
son of his father.”