MISS PERFECT’S TOILET
“Short the evenings growing,” said Aunt Dinah, looking out upon the
slanting amber sunlight, that made the landscape all so golden. “Long
shadows already!” and she glanced at her broad old gold watch. “How the
years go over us; Winnie, you’ve been a long time with me now—ha, ha, a
long time. When first you came to me, you thought me such a shrew, and I
thought you such a fool, that we both thought a parting must very soon
come of it—an old termagant and an old goose,” continued Miss Perfect,
nodding her head at her image in the glass. “We were not altogether
wrong in that, perhaps, old Dobbs—don’t interrupt me—but, though we were
neither lambs nor Solomons, we answered one another. We never parted,
and we’ll live on so, don’t you think, to the end of the chapter, and a
pretty long chapter it has been, and pretty near the end, Winnie Dobbs,
it must be for both of us. ‘Here endeth the first lesson,’ and then
comes the judgment, Winnie—‘here endeth the second lesson,’—our two
great lessons, death and judgment: think of that, my good old Winnie,
when you hear Doctor Mainwaring or Doctor Wagget, it is now, saying,
‘here endeth the first lesson,’ and ‘here endeth the second lesson,’ and
much good may it do you.”
Aunt Dinah’s lectures on such themes were generally very odd, and her
manner sometimes a little flighty—people who did not know her would have
almost said waggish. But her handmaiden received them always with a
reverent acquiescence, having as full a faith in her mistress as honest
Sancho, in his most trusting moods, ever reposed in the wisdom of the
Knight of La Mancha.
“Death and judgment, sure enough. Death, at any rate, that’s certain,”
maundered old Dobbs.
“And judgment, too, I hope,” said Aunt Dinah, sharply.
“And judgment, too,” supplemented Winnie.
“What do you mean, old Dobbs, as if one was more certain than the
other?”
“Ay, indeed. What is there certain?—nothing—nothing,” she continued, not
exactly apprehending her mistress.
“Tut, tut! Dobbs. Give me a pin—you don’t intend—but you sometimes say
things that make my flesh creep—_yes_—you don’t know it—but you do.”
“_Dear_ me, Ma’am,” ejaculated old Winnie, who was never very much
startled by Aunt Dinah’s violent remarks.
“So, I think, old Dobbs, we shall soon have a wedding here,” said Miss
Perfect, after a silence, changing the subject.
“Well, well, I should not wonder, Ma’am,” answered she.
“But you’re not to say one word about it to Miss Violet until she speaks
to you—do you mind—not a word—and that will be, I think, to-morrow.”
“To-morrow!” exclaimed Winnie.
“Not the wedding, old goose, but the talk of it. I think it will be all
settled to-morrow, and I’m glad, and I’m sorry. Give me my
snuff-box—thanks. She has never spoken to you on the subject?” said Aunt
Dinah.
“No, no, Ma’am; never,” answered Winnie.
“Nor to me. But I know all about it from another quarter, and I hope
she’ll not be a fool. She’ll never have so good an offer again. I like
him extremely. I have the best opinion of him, and the sergeant is very
much pleased; indeed, it’s quite unexceptionable, and I do expect,
Winnie Dobbs, if she _should_ talk to you, you’ll not try to frighten
her. You and I are old maids, and I believe we chose wisely; but we are
not to frighten nervous girls by drawing terrific pictures of matrimony,
and maundering about bad husbands and unprovided children; young girls
are so easily frightened away from anything that’s prudent: and, though
we are old maids, there’s a good deal to be said on the other side of
the question—so, do you mind?”
“Dear me, Ma’am, I’d be sorry she wasn’t to get a good husband, I
would.”
“And you remember the last evening, Friday last, when we were in the
study, at the table, you know, where the word ‘eminently’ came. Do you
remember?”
“Well, I ought to, I’m sure; but my old head is not as good at bringing
a thing to mind as it used to be,” hesitated Winnie.
“No more it is; but the word eminently was all we got that night, and
you didn’t know what the question was. Well, I’ll tell you. I asked
simply, will Violet Darkwell’s marriage—hook my body, please—will Violet
Darkwell’s marriage prove happy? and the answer was _eminently_.”
“Ay, so it was, I’ll be bound, though I can’t bring it to mind; but it’s
a hard word for the like o’ me to come round.”
“You _are_ provoking, Winnie Dobbs,” exclaimed her mistress, looking at
herself defiantly in the glass.
“Well, dear me! I often think I am,” acquiesced Winnie.
“Well, Winnie, we are too old to change much now—the leopard his spots,
and the Ethiopian his skin. There’s no good in trying to teach an old
dog tricks. They must make the best of us now, Winnie, such as we are;
and if this wedding does happen, I’ll trick you out in a new dress, silk
every inch, for the occasion, and the handsomest cap I can find in
Saxton. I’ll make you such a dandy, you’ll not know yourself in the
looking-glass. You’ll come to the church as her own maid, you know, but
you’re not to go away with her. You’ll stay with me, Winnie. I don’t
think you’d like to leave Gilroyd.”
Old Winnie hereupon witnessed a good and kindly confession.
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