Part 31 (1/2)
”A little.”
”That always helps. And as to terms, if we get along well together, you'll be grateful to me till the day of your death.”
Although the words were spoken without a suspicion of feeling, Mavis replied:
”I'm sure I shall.”
”Here we are!” said Mrs Hamilton.
Mavis was much surprised that no word had been said about references.
A man-servant opened the door. Mavis pa.s.sed in with Mrs Hamilton, for whom a telegram was waiting.
”Dinner at eight to-night, Jarvis; an hour earlier than usual. Lay for four,” said Jarvis's mistress, after opening the telegram.
”Yes, ma'am,” replied Jarvis, as Mrs Hamilton walked upstairs to the drawing-room, followed by Mavis.
Accustomed as Mavis had been of late to bed-sitting rooms or shabby lodging-house parlours, her first glimpse of Mrs Hamilton's richly-furnished drawing-room almost took away her breath. It was not so much the richness of the furniture which astonished her, as the daring scheme of decoration and the profusion of expensive nicknacks scattered about the room; these last were eloquent of Mrs Hamilton's ability to satisfy any whim, however costly it might be. The walls were panelled in white; white curtains were drawn across the windows; black bearskins covered the floor; the furniture was dark, formal, much of it carved; here and there on the white panelling of the walls were black Wedgwood plaques; black Wedgwood china stood audaciously upon and inside cabinets. A large grand piano and the cheerful blaze of a wood fire mitigated the severity of the room.
”How beautiful!” exclaimed Mavis.
”You like it?”
”It's the loveliest room I've ever been in.”
”It's your home if we hit it off.”
”Do you think we shall?”
”Up to now I don't see any reason why we shouldn't.”
Mavis again breathed thanks to Heaven for having so generously answered her prayer. She felt how she would like to tell of her experience to any who denied the efficacy of personal supplication to G.o.d.
”Shall I play to you?” asked Mavis, after they had talked for some minutes.
”I don't like music,” replied Mrs Hamilton.
”Not?”
”I don't understand it. Let's go upstairs to my room.”
If she did not care for music, Mavis wondered why she had made a point of asking if she (Mavis) could play.
Mrs Hamilton's bedroom was a further revelation to the girl; she looked wide-eyed at the Louis Seize gilt furniture, the tapestry, the gilt-edged screens, the plated bath in a corner of the room, the superb dressing-table bestrewed with gold toilet nicknacks.
”Do you like my bed?” asked Mrs Hamilton, who was watching the girl's undisguised wonder.
”I haven't had time to take in the other things.”
Mavis looked at the bed; it stood in an alcove on the side of the room furthest from where she was. It was long, low, and gilded; plum-coloured curtains rose in voluptuous folds till they were joined near the ceiling by a pair of big silver doves.