Part 7 (1/2)

He turned slowly. He stepped bravely toward her and lifted her hand and kissed it.

”You look very charming, my dear,” he murmured, he was breathing hard, ”very charming--I'll go back to the stable, if you'll excuse me-- Margot will show you the other things--” he was in the doorway now, his head held high, ”as she told you they've all been kept for you carefully. I hope they will make you very happy.”

He closed the door softly.

Things to make her happy! Ah! Margot! Cunning Margot! spreading the treasures of those dear dead women before their imperious little descendant! Wise old Margot, who must speak so carefully that she will not break that girl's heart! Margot, who must undo all the trouble that years of evasions from Grandy and lies from Mademoiselle D'Ormy have stored up for her!

With what infinite tact did she bring them out, those vanities And trinkets of those girls of bygone days; with what adroit eloquence did she introduce all their foibles and virtues to Felicia! Oh, but she was a fine old gossip, was Margot! She couldn't quite trust herself to touch Octavia's clothes that first day. She plunged wildly into Louisa's.

While Felice's hands were busy over a s.h.a.green jewel case filled with hideous garnet and gilt breast-pins and bracelets of the sixties, Margot leaned from the cas.e.m.e.nt and called,

”Bele, oh, Bele! You careless boy! Bring some wood for Miss Felice!

Make a fire up here! It's damp!”

And while the boy, embarra.s.sed and awkward, was kindling the fire Margot fled to the kitchen to juggle wildly with her pots and pans and leave a thousand directions for Piqueur about what to serve for the Major's lunch.

”Never tell me a man knows how to bring up a child,” she scolded as she stirred her soup, ”never tell me that! He's done as well as he could but he's made a fine mess of it--the poor child! Thinking Miss Octavia would be here--not knowing so much as a new-born kitten-- that's as much sense as she has--as a little new-born kitten!”

And she hurried back with a delectable luncheon on a tray.

Outside the sun had hid itself and the fickle spring clouds were dripping over the desolate garden. But at the fireside, curled up in the winged chair with her bandaged foot propped comfortably on a foot- stool, Felicia sat through the long afternoon and chattered and laughed and clapped her little hands.

Oh, those foolish clothes that had belonged to Louisa! With their silly--whaleboned waists and their grotesque basques and impossible pleatings! Felicia couldn't get one of those bodies half around her healthy young waist. But she liked the bonnets and the shawls. They were adorable. The shawls were so soft, so quaintly shaped, the bonnets were fairly ravis.h.i.+ng. Felicia tried them on, peering into a carved tortoise sh.e.l.l hand mirror, and giggled whimsically at the little flowered ones with lacy ties and the stuffy winter ones with velvet bows.

”Miss Louisa was very handsome,” Margot informed her, ”My aunt says she was the handsomest girl she ever saw--but very high-minded, very uppis.h.!.+”

”I know about her,” Felice answered easily, ”Mademoiselle D'Ormy belonged to her. Louisa went to Paris, you know, and Mademoiselle lived there. Mademoiselle used to tell me she bought clothes and clothes and clothes! Are these those clothes?”

Margot nodded.

”Josepha's clothes came from Paris too--” she spread a great brocaded velvet coat before her, ”Josepha wasn't pretty at all like the rest of them, she looked like her father, they said, and he was a homely old man--Josepha had a temper--I never saw her--I wasn't even born when she went away, but my aunt served her and she said Mistress Josepha had an air--a way with her--if things didn't suit her--” she lowered her voice impressively--”Ah--what she wouldn't do, that Josepha! Once my aunt took her an omelette--a beautiful omelette cooked with chopped fine carrots and peas and parsley and a big tall gla.s.s of milk for her breakfast, but Josepha, she had desired broiled chicken that morning, so she walked straight to the window here where I'm standing and threw the omelette out--She would always throw things--that one--her shoes-- or anything--when she was angry--”

Felicia blushed.

”Margot,” she confided, ”this morning when I was angry I was like that--I wanted to throw things, only I hadn't anything just then to throw--but when I was little I did--my bath sponge, you know, and once a key--” she grew thoughtful, ”the key to the storeroom where Mademoiselle hid things--Margot, you won't hide these things, will you?” she hugged a wee m.u.f.f jealously to her breast, ”You won't, will you?”

Margot chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. The room was filled with the finery she had dragged from the tall wardrobe. On the chairs, over the bed, hanging from the pegs of the cupboard, of every conceivable color and shape, those forgotten clothes glimmered and shone.

”These are the oldest of all--” Margot was kneeling and tugging at a carved cedar chest that was under the bed, ”These are the things that belonged to the first one of you, the things that belonged to Prudence Langhorne.” She dragged the chest triumphantly to the girl's side. ”On top,--” the odor of the cedar was wafted out into the room like the odor of the pine plains through which Felice had been driving yesterday, ”here, these are things she had when she came to live in this house that was built for her--plain enough, eh?” She spread the gray stuffs and brown linsey woolseys out scornfully. Their voluminous skirts and long tight sleeves and queer flat yellowed collars were stupid enough in the midst of all the splendor about them. ”But look, now look, what she wore after she came--”

Felicia looked. And not even all the frills and fabrics that she had already exclaimed over could compare with the loveliness of these frocks of Mistress Prudence. They were so dainty, so fragile I With their delicate yellowed laces! They were so soft and faded with age!

Each little frock was packed by itself in a yellowed linen case, each had shoes and stockings and sometimes a gay little head dress folded away with it. Short-waisted, scant skirted--

”Oh! Oh!” cried Felice, ”these are the ones I love best of all! These are the ones I'll wear! Oh Margot! That darling rosy one!” She bobbed out of the chair excitably, ”Look at the little silver shoes for it!

Oh Margot, dress me in it at once! Oh, Margot! How pretty I'll be for dinner every day--”

You should have seen her when she limped down the stairs for supper!

Margot had brought her one of the Major's canes and tied some faded cherry ribbons on its gold handle. Piqueur was just lighting the candles when the two descended. Grandfather sat by the fire, his head drooping. It had been a hard day, this day he had spent with old memories. He had grieved over Octavia, he had yearned for Louisa, he had pondered mightily concerning Josepha who had been so angry with him when he had married her daughter. But he'd thought not at all of little Madame Folly in whose house he sat and brooded, not until he looked up and saw her great-great-granddaughter standing in the doorway, dressed in a cherry-colored gown, all gay with tarnished silver ribbons and yellowed lace. Because she didn't know any other way to dress her hair, she had tucked it in its usual knot at the nape of her lovely neck, but on top the neat parting was perched a narrow gold circlet with a tiny cherry-colored plume and she held her head audaciously high as she swept him a mighty curtsy.

”Louisa's things aren't pretty at all,” she babbled breathlessly, ”and Josepha's I can't wear--but oh, Grandy, aren't Prudence's just sweet!”