Volume Ii Part 23 (1/2)

Clever she was--but it was in the ways of evil--and those who, from the insignificance of her person, looked upon her as perfectly harmless, often awoke too late to escape the effects of her malignity. She had watched with keen attention the meeting between the Rushmeres, while she stood apparently as indifferent as a block to the whole scene, with the white poodle hanging over her arms.

She guessed, by the sad expression that pa.s.sed over the sick mother's face, when introduced to her mistress, that she read that lady's character, and was disappointed in her son's wife. The girl was perfectly aware how weak and arrogant her mistress was, and she laughed in her sleeve at the quarrels she saw looming in the future.

For Dorothy, she felt hatred at the first glance. Young, good and beautiful--that was enough to make her wish to do her any ill turn that lay in her power. How easy it would be to make her vain proud mistress jealous of this handsome girl. What fun to set them by the ears together. Had she only known that Gilbert had recently been the lover of the girl, whose n.o.ble appearance created such envy in her breast, the breach between him and his wife would sooner have been accomplished than even her cunning antic.i.p.ated.

She was rather afraid of old Rushmere, whom she perceived was as obstinate and contradictory as herself. But he could be flattered. She had proved that the hardest and coldest natures are more vulnerable to this powerful weapon than others.

Martha Wood, the damsel whose portrait we have attempted to draw, stepped down into the kitchen to perform a task she abhorred, and wash the pampered pet, whose neck she longed to wring, and some day, when a favourable opportunity occurred, she had determined to do it.

”Are you the kitchen girl?” she said to Polly, who she saw was an easy going, good-natured creature.

”That's what I'se be.”

”What queer English you speak,” said Martha, dropping her fat bulk into a chair. ”It's the fas.h.i.+on here. Your master and mistress speak the same.”

”I do'ant know what a' means,” said Polly, pouring the water off the potatoes. ”My master an' mistress are moighty kind folk, I can tell yer.”

”Oh, I dare say, but London is the place for girls to live well, and get well paid.”

”I do'ant care for the pay, so I be well fed an' comfortable,” responded Polly. Then happening to cast her eyes upon Jewel, she exclaimed. ”La!

what be that?”

”A lap dog.”

”What sort o' a dawg? a' looks for a' the world loike a bundle o' wool.

A fooney dawg,” and she ventured to touch its head with her forefinger; ”wu'll a' bite?”

”Bite, no he has not s.p.u.n.k in him to do that. I want you to give him a bath.”

”A what.”

”Put him in a tub of warm water, and wash him with soap and a flannel.”

”Wash a dawg wi' warm water. I'll see him drownded in it, fust,” said Polly retreating to her potatoes. ”I never washed a dawg in a' my life.”

”Do it for me this once, there's a dear kind creature,” cried Martha, coaxingly, who wanted to establish a precedent and get the brute by degrees off her own hands. ”I am so tired with my long journey.”

”Tired wi' riding all night in a grand coach,” laughed Polly, ”a' only wish a' had sich a chance.”