Miss Susanna and Miss Araminta are crazy about the designs I have
sketched for their dresses, and so is Miss Fannie Cross. It is the
only talent I have, designing clothes is, and if I ever have to earn my
living I am going to be "Katrine" and have a shop on a fine street and
charge like old glory for my things. That will make them wanted, and
those who think a gown is desirable according to its price can pay
enough to make up for those who can't pay much, and I'll have a great
time charging the payers. I am going to get ready to earn a living,
anyhow, because every girl ought to, Fathers or Billys notwithstanding.
Life is a very up-and-downy thing, and it is good to know, should it
get down, that you can give it a lift up yourself and not have to wait
for a shover.
It was a private matinée, watching Miss Susanna and Miss Araminta buy
the things that Mr. Peter Smith had ordered and which they couldn't
understand his having in stock. The trimmings and linings and gloves
and stockings were exactly what was needed and they couldn't get over
how fortunate it was. They paid for them themselves, as I had handed
their money to them when we started out, holding back only enough to
pay Miss Fannie Cross; but though they took some time to do the buying,
and felt and smoothed everything they bought and put the satin to their
cheeks to be sure of its quality, and looked at each other every now
and then as if what they were doing was wicked, perhaps, but fearfully
enjoyable, still in two days everything was at Miss Fannie's, and it
was then I had to be awfully firm with Miss Araminta.
There are some things some women can never take in, and one is that an
old sheep should never dress lamb fashion. It was all Miss Fannie
(she's a corking-good dressmaker for a small place) and I could do to
hold Miss Araminta down when it came to colors, and the cut of her
skirt, and some trimmings she wanted to put on the waist. She thinks
she loves lavender, but Joseph's coat would have been a colorless piece
of apparel beside her dress if we finally hadn't sat on her and told
her certain things couldn't be done. She was crazy to pile on a bunch
of ancestral lace, yellow and dowdy; but we told her not much, told her
freshness and daintiness suited her style much better, and she wasn't
old enough to emphasize ancestral lace, and she blushed and gave in.
But nothing would have made her do it if Miss Fannie hadn't thought to
throw out the age-line. She caught on and agreed, and after that we
did not have a great deal of trouble.
Miss Susanna was a little crankier than I thought she was going to be,
and wanted a practical dress that she could wear anywhere at any time,
and we had to argue with her a good deal. I told her a train was the
thing for her, and I intended to walk behind her the night of the party
and keep everybody back far enough to see how grand she looked. When a
woman is sixty-six and pretty worn, short skirts for evenings are not
impressive, and, though we didn't mention age, we said finally she owed
it to her mother's memory to dress in a style suitable to the position
into which she had been born, and that settled it. She's the real
thing, Miss Susanna is. She doesn't have to play a part.
I had told Miss Fannie on the quiet that the price of making the
dresses would be doubled if she would have them ready for the 17th of
August, and they were ready. Miss Araminta and Miss Susanna thought it
was a bad example to set, as it might not be just to the other
Twickenham-Towners to pay more than they could pay, and it stuck Miss
Araminta pretty deep to hand out more than was necessary. But I told
her it was an emergency operation and that kind always came high. And
also I told them that Miss Fannie charged entirely too little for her
work, and it was poor religion to go to church on Sunday and sing
praises to God and underpay a poor little dressmaker. They said they
supposed it was, but I don't think they thought it very reverential in
me to speak of God in connection with a dress-maker and what she got
for sewing. I gave each one a list of their expenditures, with the
cost of everything on it, and each had a little left over after getting
their slippers and some sachet powder and a bottle of violet-water
apiece, and, after all, that brother of Miss Araminta's got a little of
the sapphire money. But it wasn't much. I saw to that. It's been
awfully exciting in Twickenham lately.
The event of the year is the MacLean party and the best of everything
is saved for it, and in itself it makes every tongue in town talk until
you wonder why tongues are the only things that never tire, and then,
lo and behold! two days before it came off back comes Elizabeth
Hamilton Carter, bringing her beau behind her, and off start the same
tongues on a new lap and no breath taken in between.
I wish Billy could see it, the thing Elizabeth brought back! He wears
men's clothes (very good ones) and he is twenty-seven years old, and
has large hands and feet and ears and a feeble mustache, but as a man
he isn't much. He looks like a hatter and is seemingly dumb, and he
blinks his eyes so continually that no one can tell their color. Also
he bites his finger-nails. I advised Elizabeth to get a beau _pro
tem._, but I didn't mean anything like that. If she wants jealousy to
bring Whythe back to her she should keep something on hand to be
jealous of. Elizabeth has an iron will and a copper determination, but
about as much judgment as a horse-fly.
Miss Bettie Simcoe's eyebrows haven't come down good since the night
the _engagées_ arrived. She has an explanation for the situation, as
she calls it, there never yet being a situation she couldn't explain,
and she says the engagement is a piece of management on the part of
Elizabeth's aunt on her father's side, the aunt she has been visiting.
This aunt is society crazy, and, knowing you can't keep step in society
without money, she arranged the whole thing. Anyhow, Elizabeth has a
gorgeous ring and a magnificent pin, and of course she ought to be
happy if diamonds and things mean happiness, but she isn't happy, and
for the first time since I met her I can't make her out. Before I know
it I am going to feel sorry for her, and then good-by to in-loveness
for me! I have very little sense at times, and no hold-outness at all
when certain things come to pass.
Elizabeth still loves Whythe. Engaged or not to some one else, she
still cares only for him. I don't want him. I wonder how it might be
managed--getting them to take in how silly they have been. I believe
I'll try and see if something can't be done. Watchful waiting may be
all right in some cases, but I never cared for waiting. Milton says
all things come to him who hustles while he waits. You get a move on,
Kitty Canary, and see what you can do!