Part 49 (2/2)
People are so unkind, quite horrid in fact. And as Esther and the doctor were doing it all for her good they would naturally hate to have their actions misunderstood. Of course, Mrs. Coombe knew that Miss Milligan herself would never mention it to a soul. She felt quite sure of that, still--as it did not appear how the little plot could be spread abroad under those circ.u.mstances unless the lay-figure in the corner should become communicative, Mrs. Coombe's sentence remained plaintively unfinished. Miss Milligan, in spite of its being so very unnecessary, found herself promising solemnly never to mention it.
As the whole thing was entirely unpremeditated it seemed like a special piece of good luck that Mrs. Coombe should have at that moment in her pocket a note to the druggists (who were not called druggists, exactly) and that all she needed to do was to add Miss Milligan's address, and hand to that lady sufficient money to secure a postal note as an enclosure. She did this very quickly and the whole little affair was satisfactorily disposed of when Esther was seen coming hurriedly down the street.
”I thought,” said Esther, who entered a little out of breath and with a worried pucker between her eyes, ”I thought that I would just run in and see how the linings look.”
”You can never tell anything from linings,” said Miss Milligan in an injured tone. ”Gracious! I don't suppose any one would ever want a dress if they went by the way the linings look. I always advise my customers never to look in the gla.s.s until I get to the material, what with seams on the wrong side and all!”
”There is really nothing at all to see as yet,” a.s.sented Mrs. Coombe crossly.
Esther seated herself by the open window.
”Very well,” she said quietly. ”I won't look. I'll just wait.”
Mrs. Coombe shrugged her shoulders and displaced a pin or two. There was an injured look upon her face and Miss Milligan, replacing the pins, wondered how it is that nice girls like Esther Coombe never see when they're not wanted.
The fitting went quickly forward. Mrs. Coombe seemed to have lost all her genial expansiveness. Miss Milligan's pins had overflowed from her pin-cus.h.i.+on into her mouth and Esther, who appeared tired, gazed steadily out of the window. Only the humming of the machines in the adjoining workroom and the subdued talk and laughter of Miss Milligan's young ladies saved the silence from becoming oppressive. Occasionally, when her supply of pins became exhausted, Miss Milligan would contribute a cooing murmur to the effect that it did ”set beautiful across the shoulders” or that ”the long line over the hip was quite elegant.”
Without doubt the atmosphere had changed with the coming of Esther. Mrs.
Coombe became each moment more fidgety, she became, in fact, jerky! Her hands twitched, her head twitched, she could not stand still and suddenly she twitched herself out of Miss Milligan's hands altogether and flinging herself into a chair declared that she couldn't stand any more fitting that day. Even Miss Milligan's black currant eyes could see that her nerves were terribly wrong--she looked ghastly, poor thing! And all on account of a silly prejudice regarding patent medicines.
Esther, who exhibited no surprise at her mother's sudden collapse, helped Miss Milligan to unpin the linings.
”My mother has been a little longer than usual without her tonic,” she calmly explained. ”The other fittings can wait,” and quickly, yet without flurry, she found Mary's hat, bag, gloves and parasol and picked up her handkerchief which she had flung upon the floor.
Mrs. Coombe accepted these services without thanks, indulging indeed in a little spiteful laugh which Miss Milligan obligingly attributed to her poor nerves. Things had come to a pretty pa.s.s indeed, thought the sympathetic dressmaker, when a grown woman is obliged to have her medicine chosen for her like a baby.
As she stood in the doorway watching the two ladies out of sight, a just indignation grew within the breast so strongly fortified outside, so vulnerable within; and without even waiting to call her giggling young ladies to order, she pinned on her hat and departed to send Mrs.
Coombe's postal note to the Detroit druggist, who, oddly enough, was not a druggist at all.
CHAPTER x.x.x
Esther and her step-mother set out upon their homeward walk in silence.
The older woman's face was drawn and bitter, Esther's thoughtful and sad. Though there seemed no reason for haste, Mrs. Coombe's steps grew constantly quicker until she was hurrying breathlessly.
More than once the girl glanced at her anxiously as if about to speak, yet hesitating. Then when the walk threatened to become a run she laid a detaining hand upon her arm.
”If you walk so very rapidly, mother, people will notice.” It was the only argument which never failed of effect. Mrs. Coombe's steps slackened.
”Besides,” went on Esther eagerly, ”every moment is a gain. Ten minutes more will make this the longest interval yet. Don't you think you could try....”
”No!”
The word was only a gasp and the face Mary turned for a moment on the girl was livid. The eyes shone with hate. ”You--you beast!” she muttered chokingly.
Esther turned a shade paler, but otherwise gave no sign that she had heard. ”Mother, just try, you are doing so well, so splendidly. The doctor says ...”
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