A QUARTER TO SEVEN
At a quarter to seven we were still in what I should describe as the
throes. I daresay that sentence is not perfect English, but it is
exactly what I mean; and, so long as you have that, what does it
matter?
Jane had made such a mess of her crying, and I had found it so
difficult to make out what the ridiculous creature was crying about;
but it seemed that her young man had spoken to her with freezing
coldness that very afternoon, and that, combined with the excitement
of the discovery that, as she phrased it, I had put mamma’s and the
girls’ noses “out of joint,” by walking off with their five young
men--though you could hardly describe Major Tibbet as young--and the
agitation occasioned her by my kissing her all of a sudden, had
brought her to such a stage that she had to do it. So she did it,
although, with all my heart, I wish she hadn’t.
Her tears, and my efforts to understand their why and their wherefore,
confused things dreadfully. Some of my things we got on inside out and
some we did not get on at all. When we came to my hair, it was awful.
We spent about twenty minutes in getting it into a mess, and
half-an-hour in getting it out; Jane’s ideas on the subject of
hairdressing were so original, and, when it came to the point, quite
impracticable. At last, when it seemed to me that it must nearly all
have been torn out by the roots, and my scalp was sore all over, we
were confronted by the fact that we had about two seconds in which to
make a satisfactory job of it.
So then I took it in hand myself. I had had enough of Jane. I just
gave it a twirl and a twist, and jabbed six hairpins into it, and it
had to do. Jane’s opinion of the result was not enthusiastic.
“Well, miss, I can’t say I think much of it--that I can’t. Looks as if
you’d tried to make as little of it as you possibly could. In fact,
you’ve screwed it that tight, it seems as if you hadn’t hardly any
hair at all.”
“When one comes to think of the handfuls you’ve pulled out, Jane----”
“Miss Norah! I have not pulled out handfuls! It’s not fair to talk
like that--that it’s not.”
“Then half-handfuls, if you prefer it, Jane. Just look at that heap of
hair upon my dressing-table; quite recently it was all upon my head.”
“I’m sure, miss, I’m very sorry. I never thought you’d take it like
this. I didn’t mean----”
“That’s all right, Jane. What do a few hairs, more or less, matter?
For goodness’ sake, don’t start crying again. Help me on with my
bodice; and don’t try to induce me to put my right arm into the left
sleeve.”
As I have said, at a quarter to seven, we were still in the throes. It
was a few seconds before that time when there came a loud rat-tat at
the hall door. I quite jumped.
“There they are!” I cried; “and I’m not ready!”
“That you certainly are not, miss; nor nearly.”
“I don’t know about nearly. I only have to be done up this side, and
put something round my neck, and get my gloves on; and then I shall be
ready.”
Jane surveyed me through her tear-dimmed eyes, screwing up her lips in
a way she had.
“Well, miss, there’s ready and there’s ready. If I was going out to
dine with five gentlemen, I shouldn’t think that I was nearly ready;
not by a good deal, I shouldn’t. To me, considering, it don’t seem as
if you had hardly got anything on.”
There came some more hammering at the door; apparently those gentlemen
were impatient.
“It’s no good talking like that now. You must go down and let them in.
I shall have to manage.”
Jane’s manner was a mixture of resignation and acidity.
“Very well, miss; as you please, miss. I’m sure I’ve done my best; I
couldn’t do no more.”
I felt convinced of it as she retired. Indeed, I had rather she had
done less. Scarcely had she disappeared than Audrey entered. I stared,
expecting that she was going to favour me with a few candid
criticisms. But no one could have been nicer.
“Well, child”--considering our relative sizes, the way in which they
will persist in calling me child, is grotesque--“are you dressed for
the great occasion? So Jane has been giving you the benefit of her
assistance.”
There was a smile on her face which made me feel for Jane.
“It’s very good of her. She doesn’t seem to have much idea. She
doesn’t pretend to be a lady’s maid; but she’s done her best.”
In a comprehensive sort of way, Audrey looked me up and down. I felt
as if every one of my weak points was hitting her in the face.
“Candidly, Norah, you are a difficult child to dress. The mode and you
will ever be at variance. You must have a mode of your own. You are
like Michael Angelo’s statues--on the grand lines.”
“I don’t know why you need laugh at me. I can’t help it.”
“I’m not laughing. On the contrary, I’m not sure that if you were
clothed, as you might be, that you wouldn’t be splendid.”
“Audrey!”
“But that is not an ideal dress for you; and you don’t seem as if you
knew how to get into it, if it were. Come down to my room; let me add
a touch or two to Jane’s.”
At that moment Jane returned.
“If you please, miss, them five gentlemen have come for you; and Mr
Hammond’s compliments, and he hopes that you won’t keep them waiting.”
Audrey looked at her quickly.
“Did Mr Hammond send that message?”
“Yes, miss; them was his own words.”
Audrey turned to me, with a laugh that was half in earnest.
“If I were you, Norah, I should return a message to Mr Hammond to the
effect that he need not wait.”
I hesitated, then spoke:
“Thank you, Jane; there is no message.”
When we got into Audrey’s room--she was awfully particular about
keeping it all to herself, scarcely letting me inside it twice a
year--I thought, as I always did, how pretty it was, especially
compared to mine--she said something which took me aback.
“Norah, I want to ask you a favour.” I stared at her askance. “Don’t
suffer these gentlemen to be impertinent.”
“As if I should! Do you think they’d dare?”
“Child, don’t blaze. I don’t know what has got into men’s heads to
make them mad; but I wouldn’t allow them to act as if you took their
madness for granted. That message of Mr Hammond’s was not a very
pretty one.”
“I will make him smart for it.”
“Do. A little smarting does some men much good.”
Her slender fingers, moving about me here and there, worked wonders
with my appearance. She lent me ribbons, laces, those odds and ends
which a girl must have if she wants to be finished properly. And they
were just the proper odds and ends, the delicate trifles which cost
such lots of money. As I saw her handiwork in the looking-glass, I
perceived that she was making me quite presentable.
“I should like to take down your hair and do it all over again; but
I’m afraid there isn’t time.”
“I’m sure there isn’t. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”
“My dear, you’re inexperienced. Don’t allow yourself to be influenced
by any consideration of that kind; especially after the message which
Mr Hammond permitted himself to request Jane to deliver. With some
men, the worse you treat them, the better they treat you. ‘’Tis true,
’tis pity; but pity ’tis, ’tis true.’ By the way, these gentlemen seem
violently drawn towards you; are you equally drawn towards them?”
“Not I.”
“Not towards any one of them?”
“Not towards any one of them. Shall I tell you what I think of them? I
think----”
“Ssh! I don’t think that, perhaps, you had better tell me what you
think. It might be over--candid.” She smiled up at me in a way which
made her look a perfect dream of loveliness. “Besides--they’re not
all--ganders.”
“Basil Carter isn’t--at least, I never should have guessed it.”
“Nor I. It’s rather odd that we should be of the same mind upon that
subject. There, now you look a little better; though, I tell you
again, that you’re a difficult child to dress. Yet it might be worth
one’s while to fashion for you a mode of your own. You are so--very
splendid.”
“Audrey, I do wish that you wouldn’t laugh at me!”
“I repeat that I am not laughing. I don’t know, Norah O’Brady, if you
are aware how excellent an opportunity you are about to have to show
how badly you can behave. One girl--five men, each of them wishing the
others were in Heaven. What a chance you’ll have of trampling on what
they flatter themselves are their tenderest feelings. If you’re a
sister of mine, trample on them, Norah, an you love me.”
“I’ll try.”
“At least, do try. Let me whisper in your ear. Above all,
trample--with your heaviest tramp--on Basil Carter--not only on his
feelings, but, if opportunity offers, on his very self. I’m much
afraid that he’s the biggest gander of them all--and, Norah, I didn’t
think so once.”