Part 18 (1/2)

”Get hold of Max, and coax him to go back for them!”

”He wouldn't; it's no use. It's raining like anything, and it would take him an hour to go there and come back.”

”Ask Lady Darcy to send one of the servants--”

”No use, my dear. They are scampering up and down like mice, and haven't a moment to spare from their own work.”

”See if Rosalind would lend me a pair!”

”Silly goose! Look at your foot. It is three times the size of hers.

You will just have to wear them, I'm afraid. Give them to me, and let me see what can be done.” Peggy took the slippers in her hands and studied them critically. They were certainly not new, but then they were by no means old; just respectable, middle-aged creatures, slightly rubbed on the heel and white at the toes, but with many a day of good hard wear still before them.

”Oh, come,” she said rea.s.suringly, ”they are not so bad, Mellicent!

With a little polish they would look quite presentable. I'll tap at the door and ask Rosalind if she has some that she can lend us. She is sure to have it. There are about fifty thousand bottles on her table.”

Peggy crossed the room as she spoke, tapped on the panel, and received an immediate answer in a high complacent treble.

”Coming! Coming! I'm weady;” then the door flew open; a tiny pink silk shoe stepped daintily over the mat, and Rosalind stood before them in all the glory of a new Parisian dress. Three separate gasps of admiration greeted her appearance, and she stood smiling and dimpling while the girls took in the fascinating details--the satin frock of palest imaginable pink, the white chiffon over-dress which fell from shoulder to hem in graceful freedom, sprinkled over with exquisite rose--leaves--it was all wonderful--fantastic--as far removed from Peggy's muslin as from the homely crepon of the vicar's daughters.

”Rosalind! what a perfect _angel_ you look!” gasped Mellicent, her own dilemma forgotten in her wholehearted admiration; but the next moment memory came back, and her expression changed to one of pitiful appeal.

”But, oh, have you got any boot-polish? The most awful thing has happened. I've brought my old shoes by mistake! Look! I don't know what on earth I shall do, if you can't give me something to black the toes.” She held out the shoes as she spoke, and Rosalind gave a shrill scream of laughter.

”Oh! oh! Those things! How fwightfully funny! what a fwightful joke!

You will look like Cinderwella, when she wan away, and the gla.s.s slippers changed back to her dweadful old clogs. It is too scweamingly funny, I do declare!”

”Oh, never mind what you declare! Can you lend us some boot-polish-- that's the question!” cried Peggy sharply. She knew Mellicent's horror of ridicule, and felt indignant with the girl who could stand by, secure in her own beauty and elegance, and have no sympathy for the misfortune of a friend. ”If you have a bottle of peerless gloss, or any of those s.h.i.+ny things with a sponge fastened on the cork, I can make them look quite respectable, and no one will have any cause to laugh.”

”Ha, ha, ha!” trilled Rosalind once more, ”Peggy is cwoss! I never knew such a girl for flying into tantwums at a moment's notice! Yes, of course I'll lend you the polish. There is some in this little cupboard--there! I won't touch it, in case it soils my gloves. Shall I call Marie to put it on for you?”

”Thank you, there's no need--I can do it! I would rather do it myself!”

”Oh--oh, isn't she cwoss! You will bweak the cork if you scwew it about like that, and then you'll never be able to get it out. Why don't you pull it pwoperly?”

”I know how to pull out a cork, thank you; I've done it before!”

Peggy shot an angry glance at her hostess, and set to work again with doubled energy. Now that Rosalind had laughed at her inability, it would be misery to fail; but the bottle had evidently lain aside for some time, and a stiff black crust had formed round the cork which made it difficult to move. Peggy pulled and tugged, while Rosalind stood watching, laughing her aggravating, patronising little laugh, and dropping a word of instruction from time to time. And then, quite suddenly, a dreadful thing happened. In the flash of an eye--so quickly and unexpectedly, that, looking back upon it, it seemed like a nightmare which could not possibly have taken place in real life--the cork jerked out in Peggy's hand, in response to a savage tug, and with it out flew an inky jet, which rose straight up in the air, separated into a mult.i.tude of tiny drops, and descended in a flood--oh, the horror of that moment!--over Rosalind's face, neck, and dress.

One moment a fairy princess, a G.o.ddess of summer, the next a figure of fun with black spots scattered thickly over cheeks and nose, a big splash on the white shoulder, and inky daubs dotted here and there between the rose-leaves. What a transformation! What a spectacle of horror! Peggy stood transfixed; Mellicent screamed in terror; and Esther ran forward, handkerchief in hand, only to be waved aside with angry vehemence. Rosalind's face was convulsed with anger; she stamped her foot and spoke at the pitch of her voice, as if she had no control over her feelings.

”Oh, oh, oh! You wicked girl! you hateful, detestable girl! You did it on purpose, because you were in a temper! You have been in a temper all the afternoon! You have spoiled my dress! I was weady to go downstairs. It is eight o'clock. In a few minutes everyone will be here, and oh, what shall I do--what shall I do! Whatever will mother say when she sees me?”

As if to give a practical answer to this inquiry, there came a sound of hasty footsteps in the corridor, the door flew open, and Lady Darcy rushed in, followed by the French maid.

”My darling, what is it? I heard your voice. Has something happened?

Oh-h!” She stopped short, paralysed with consternation, while the maid wrung her hands in despair. ”Rosalind, what _have_ you done to yourself?”

”Nothing, nothing! It was Peggy Saville; she splashed me with her horrid boot-polish--I gave it to her for her shoes. It is on my face, my neck, in my mouth--”

”I was pulling the cork. It came out with a jerk. I didn't know; I didn't see!--”