JANE
Jane’s remarks, as she turned my wardrobe over and over, commenting
on it critically as she did so, made it almost as clear as possible
that in accepting her assistance I had been guilty of an indiscretion.
Considering the position in which she was supposed to stand towards me
there was a frankness about her which I felt was unbecoming.
“Well, you haven’t got much to wear, and that’s a fact, look at it how
you may; and what you have got I’ve seen you in till I should think
you was sick of the sight; not that they amounted to anything, even
when they was new.”
As I was about to point out, with some severity, that observations of
that kind were not likely to assist me to any material extent, she
branched off at a tangent.
“I was never out with five gentlemen all at once, not myself I wasn’t.
The most I was ever out with was three; and as two of them started
fighting before we’d gone very far you couldn’t hardly call that a
success. They knocked each other about something cruel--at least, so I
was given to understand. So far as I was concerned, I never so much as
spoke to them again. Because I always have held, and always shall
hold, that when two gentlemen start fighting about a lady out in the
open street, right before her very eyes, as it were, they aren’t
gentlemen--no, and never won’t be neither.”
Though open to admit that her sentiments might do her credit, I could
not perceive their application to the subject in hand. As I was about
to drop a hint to that effect, she returned, with a frankness which I
again found slightly embarrassing, to the subject of clothes.
“Now, about underneath. I hold that’s it’s no good having a smart gown
on if there’s nothing but rags inside. When a party lifts a scarlet
satin skirt to show a torn petticoat, and, perhaps, an odd pair of
stockings what’s all holes, she might fancy herself, but I never
should. I say if it must be a torn petticoat, put it on outside, and
the satin skirt underneath, it would be less deceiving. Now, miss,
what was you thinking of wearing?”
Jane had not a delicate touch. She framed her inquiries with a
directness which was a little appalling. I explained--to her
satisfaction. She was even pleased to be enthusiastic.
“Now, if you could only wear them outside, and them wretched, shabby
old dresses underneath, that would be something like. It’s a pity,
miss, you can’t. Things like them is not meant to be hidden. About
them scarlet stockings. As it just happens, I’ve got a pair of scarlet
shoes. They was given me by a lady friend for whom they was too large,
and they’re a bit too big for me. But they’re about the shade; and I
should think, with a little management, they might fit you.”
Some persons might resent such a remark as that. It did not sound
complimentary. But I am too well aware that I am, in all respects,
beyond the ordinary size of a woman, to be much affected by allusions
to the fact. What I did not relish was the notion of getting into
shoes which had been transferred from that lady friend to Jane. I
wondered dimly what mamma and the girls would say, if it ever came to
their ears that such a suggestion had been made. But Jane would listen
to nothing. She seemed to have made up her mind to see me through--and
see me through she would. Off she went to get those shoes.
So soon as she was gone I meditated a plan for preventing her return.
I did not want her shoes, and I did not want her assistance either. I
was beginning to be fearful that I should be a bigger fright with her
aid than without it. Had there been a key in the door, it would have
been easy. But there was not. My bedroom lacked a good many things,
one of them being a means of securing it against intruders. It was at
the top of the house, right away from the others, on the same floor as
the servants’; so that Jane had but to slip through my door, and
across to hers.
I did think of putting my foot against the door, and keeping her out
like that; but it would have been a brusque method of proceeding, and
might have hurt her feelings. After all, she meant well; and, as I
have said, so few people ever did mean well towards me, that I found
it exceedingly difficult to thwart them when the mood was on them.
Some minutes elapsed before Jane returned. When she did, I was really
not in a condition of costume to offer effective resistance of any
kind. Time was passing. Mr Hammond had emphasised his request that I
would not keep them waiting, but that I would be ready at a quarter to
seven; so I was beginning to make as much haste as I could. Besides, I
had a sort of feeling that it might be just as well to get through, at
least, the initiatory stages, before Jane appeared; her observations
did lean so strongly towards the side of candour.
When she entered I was conscious of what I believe people call a
qualm, though just what kind of qualm it was, I am not prepared to
positively assert. She had not only in her hands a pair of scarlet
shoes, but her arms were heaped up with what I had an intuitive
perception were assorted specimens of her wardrobe. Did she propose to
array me in her splendours? Was I to sally forth with five gentlemen
to dinner in Jane’s attire? Were her clothes to flit from seat to seat
in the Gaiety Theatre? Did she suppose that any of them would fit me;
I was a head taller than she was? Her figure was what I should have
described as weedy; I daresay she considered it elegant. My chest was
as broad as a grenadier’s--horribly broad! Were not mamma and the
girls intimately acquainted with nearly every article of clothing I
possessed? Would they not instantly detect upon me the presence of an
unaccustomed thing? Would not inquiries be promptly instituted as to
where I got it from? Could I answer--Jane?
That she was totally without suspicion that such questions could be
chasing each other through my bosom, her observations quickly showed.
“I think that, between us, miss, we shall make you look something
like.”
I had no doubt of that whatever; it was that which racked me.
“It isn’t often that you do go out with five gentlemen, all at once,
nor anyone else, for the matter of that; so that when you do go, it’s
just as well that them five gentlemen should know that they’ve got
someone with ’em as everyone was looking at.”
I was not so sure of that, by any means. Momentarily it was becoming
clearer that Jane’s point of view was scarcely mine.
“A gentleman friend of mine, he likes colour--pink especial. He’d like
to see me pink from head to foot, winter and summer, though for winter
it always seems to me to be a trifle cool. I got that hat to suit him.
Now, that’s what I call striking!” She held out the article in front
of her. “If you try it on, you’ll find it’ll stand out on you. You try
it on, Miss Norah.”
I try it on!--Jane’s hat!--That hat! A shiver went all over me, which
was not caused by my being at the moment lightly clad. Fortunately, I
was not compelled to go to quite those limits, there was a loophole
for escape.
“You forget, Jane, that I shall not wear a hat, so I’m afraid it will
be no use for me to try it on, especially as time is getting short.
Though it’s awfully good of you to suggest it; I’m sure that in that
hat I should look striking.”
I was sure. It was a pink silk article, of the picture variety, with a
big brilliant pink bow ornamenting it in front, and a huge pink
feather running round it, and then drooping over the side. If I went
out with that on my head, even the omnibus drivers would make remarks.
Jane seemed to regret my unwillingness to try it on. Possibly, my
disinclination to avail myself of her offer did not synchronise with
her notions of feminine human nature.
“I was forgetting, miss, as how you could not wear a hat. It seems a
pity. I suppose it couldn’t be managed.”
“I am afraid not. You see, I could hardly wear it at dinner; and if I
did, they wouldn’t let me into the theatre with it afterwards.”
She laid that nightmare in bilious pink on one side, with a sigh.
“It do seem a pity, it really do! In that hat you’d be noticeable if
you was with fifty gentlemen, let alone with five.”
I was convinced of it. I told her so.
“It’s tremendously nice of you to wish to eke out my odds and ends
with your lovely things, Jane; but all the same I know I shouldn’t do
justice to them, and I think I’d better stick to what is my own.”
“And that’s where you’re wrong, miss--begging your pardon for saying
so. Now, there’s a tri-coloured sash. I got it when there was them
patriotic goings on, me having a cousin in the militia what got
invalided home owing to his drinking habits. That’s something like a
sash, that is. You wear it over your shoulder like them Oddfellows--I
had a uncle what was one till he got three months for knocking his
wife about. After that he joined the Salvation Army for a change--and
then you tie it round your waist, and let it hang. It’s a foot wide,
and there’s seven yards of it, so there’s plenty for hanging. It would
show off one of them shabby old dresses of yours, that it would.”
I realise the truth of this. Still--it was so very showy. The red hit
you in the eye, the blue was another case of the wrong shade, the
white, one could but hope, had seen whiter days. I could not see my
way to imitating the Oddfellows and letting it hang. I broke it to her
as gently as I was able.
“It is showy. Certainly no one could help noticing me if I did have it
on.”
“I’d defy ’em.”
“So would I. But I’m thinking of wearing my black; and, do you know,
Jane, I’m inclined to believe that the less colour I wear the better.”
“I believe in colour; it lights you up.”
“Yes; it lights you up, but it would make me flare. You see, you have
such a much more delicate figure than I have.”
“I have been told that I’ve a delicate figure, and it’s no use my
denying it. Still, I say this of colour--for everyone--it makes ’em
stand out.”
“It does. You’re quite right. Especially a red, white, and blue sash.
There’s not a doubt of it.”
“And what I say is, a woman wants to stand out, unless she’s a mere
worm, and goodness knows that I’m no worm. The more she stands out the
more she’s noticed--and, if she’s any opinion of herself, as she ought
to have, notice is what she wants. Now here is something tasty--and
full dress. That’s a opera cloak, that is, green silk with yellow
stripes. That’s beaver trimming round the edges--real beaver. It’s a
bit rusty here and there, but nothing to signify. I call it handsome.
It was left to me by an aunt what died. She went about a good deal in
society; her husband being a scene painter, and getting her orders for
the theatre constant. Nights together she’d sit in the middle of the
front row of the stalls in that very cloak, especially when business
was a bit slack and they wanted the theatre to seem crowded as it
were. Because, as I’ve been given to understand, people what pays
won’t go to the theatre unless you can make ’em believe that they
can’t get in. My aunt got to be known by that cloak. ‘The lady with
the green silk opera-cloak with yellow stripes and beaver trimming’
they used to speak of her as. I’ve only worn it myself two or three
times, to dances and such like. Now it would set you off, that would.
It’s a little short, perhaps, for you; but I’m told that they’re
wearing them short just now.”
It would scarcely have covered my shoulders; but there was a good deal
too much of it, for all that.
“Are they? You evidently are better posted in the fashions, Jane, than
I am.”
“I take in two fashion-books myself--leastways, there are fashions in
them--and see seven.”
“Do you? That explains it. It’s a wonderful cloak; but I have a cloak
of my own, though it isn’t much of a one, and I really think I ought
to wear it.”
“There’s no ought about it, if you’ll excuse my saying so. You can
wear my opera cloak, if you like, miss, and welcome.”
“You’re very, very good, Jane. Suppose we wait till I have finished
dressing, and then see how it goes.”
“Very well, miss; as you please. But there’s one thing you’ll have to
wear, and that’s those scarlet shoes. You told me yourself that you’d
a pair of scarlet stockings, but no shoes to match ’em; so, as far as
wearing these goes, it’s a case of have to.”
Apparently it was. The scarlet shoes in question never had been of
first-rate quality, and they were not exactly new. It seemed as if the
“lady friend” had given them a fair trial before handing them on to
Jane. But they were still presentable, and, plainly, in Jane’s
opinion, beyond the possibility of reproach. I had refused her hat,
her sash, her cloak. I had not the heart to add her shoes to the list
of my refusals,--at any rate, without giving them a trial. And it was
soon made clear that Jane’s ideas on the subject of a trial were
thorough. I got into the stockings, but getting into the shoes was
quite a different thing. She pushed, and I pushed; but the scarlet
shoes continued to show reluctance to make the acquaintance of my
feet. As usual, she commented on the fact in her somewhat painfully
plain-spoken fashion.
“Really, Miss Norah, you’ve got a man’s foot--you really have. Reminds
me of a cousin of mine who always used to have his boots made
specially for him, all on account of their saying that it took two
pairs of anybody else’s boots to make him one. Used to work on a farm,
he did, which, I have been told, causes the feet to spread.”
“I don’t believe, Jane, it is that which has extended mine!”
“It’s sure and certain something must have; because never before did I
see so large a foot upon a lady’s leg, except my grandmother, what
went off with dropsy, so that, when she died, her feet was like
pumpkins. But these shoes have got to go on somehow, or else I’ll know
the reason why.”
It was not necessary for her to institute any inquiry into recondite
causes--the shoes went on. With difficulty, it is true, but still they
went. And being on, they proved to be not so tight as they might have
been--that is, considering. When I think of some of the shoes into
which my feet have been compressed, Jane’s might have been regarded as
almost loose. She regarded the fruits of her labours with an air of
triumph.
“No mistake, you do fill them.”
“I do. It has been my unfortunate experience, on several occasions, to
have filled my shoes a little too completely.”
“Can you walk in them?”
I stood up to try. I found that I could, at present. Whether, after
having worn them for an hour or two, locomotion might not become more
difficult, was another story altogether.
“I shouldn’t care to do a ten-mile tramp in them; but I think I can
manage to do all the walking that’s likely to be required.”
If the principal pedestrian exercise which I was likely to have to
undergo consisted in passing from seat to seat at the Gaiety Theatre,
I ought to be equal to that. Having once succeeded in getting me into
her shoes, Jane became positively laudatory.
“They look a fair treat--they do that; what with the stockings and the
shoes together. They’re such a perfect match; you couldn’t have
matched ’em better, not if you’d gone to a shop to do it.” That was
true enough. “And you’re well-shaped, even if you are an extra size.”
That also, from the bottom of my heart, I believed to be true; and, in
my moments of most extreme despondency, I was wont to hug the
conviction to my bosom. My feet might be large, but then I was large
all over; they were not disproportionate; and I am almost convinced
that, as Jane put it, they were well-shaped. Indeed, I will go
further, and express my opinion that generally I am well-shaped. My
limbs are as well moulded as any girl’s need be. I do not see why it
should be such a tremendous drawback because the mould happened to be
a little bit Titanic.
I bent down--I had to bend some distance--and I kissed Jane.
“You’re tremendously good to me, and I thank you awfully for lending
me these very pretty shoes.”
To my amazement, she burst out crying!