Part 15 (1/2)
”But Lily isn't at all das.h.i.+ng,” remarked Amelia.
”I want to be, though,” said Lily suddenly. ”I'd like to be very, very das.h.i.+ng just for once in my life. I want to know what it feels like. I'm sick of being demure and lady-like. Yes, I am! And I want to wear a comb in my hair and scarlet heels.” The color rose in her cheeks, and her blue eyes shone with a rebellious light. ”I-I want to-to _flirt_!”
”Lily!” cried Amelia, in pained astonishment, ”why, whatever is the matter with you? You want to _flirt_? Why, I never heard of such a thing. You, of all people! Why, flirting is beneath you!”
”Oh, no, it's not!” returned Lily, audaciously. ”Do you think it's beneath _you_?”
”Of course it's beneath Amelia,” interrupted Dolly, whose brown eyes were twinkling, ”Amelia's too intellectual to care about anything like that, aren't you?”
Amelia hesitated.
”I think that flirting is very trivial,” she said at length, in her superior way, ”and no flirt ever wins a man's solid respect. My brother-in-law says that every man really cares more about good sense, even though he may show a pa.s.sing interest in frivolous people.”
”I don't care what your brother-in-law thinks,” returned Lily, with a spirit that astounded her friends. ”_I_ feel like flirting. I'm tired of being sensible. I want to be gay, and-and _dangerous_.”
”Amelia, you make me weary,” said Dolly; ”you pretend you aren't the least bit interested in beaux, but I know that you pose as being intellectual, just to-well, because you think it's one way of attracting 'em! And why are you going as Sappho if it isn't to show off your long hair?”
A t.i.tter of mirth greeted this observation, which struck everyone but Amelia as being remarkably astute.
”Come on, Lily-let's just see how you _would_ look in a Spanish costume,” coaxed Annie Lee. ”We can use this yellow stuff for a skirt.
Has anybody got a black lace scarf and a comb?”
”I have,” said Lily, herself. ”I got them about four years ago and I've had them hidden in my lowest bureau drawer ever since. I knew I never could use them, but I couldn't resist them. I-I put them on sometimes when I'm alone, just to see what I look like. Aren't I silly?”
”Go and get them,” commanded Annie Lee. But at that moment, Mrs. Deacon reappeared.
”Now here is the alb.u.m,” she announced. ”I just want to read you these few little things that I think perfectly dear, Amelia. You with your veins of poesy will appreciate them.”
”Oh, mamma, _please_,” implored the hapless Lily, turning red as fire.
”Don't! They are so _awful_!”
”You are so modest, Lily. Now, here is a little thing that Lily wrote when she was only fifteen, Amelia. It's called The Pinetree.” And with a preparatory ”Ahem!” Mrs. Deacon proceeded to read amidst a profound silence,
”The Pinetree stood lonely and bare, In the ghastly-no, ghostly, white light of the moon, And I wondered why it made me Feel so very full of gloom. It made me think of all the friends, Whom-Lily, dear what is this next word?”
But Lily had fled. ”That child is perfectly ridiculous,” said Mrs.
Deacon, with annoyance. ”Now, I think these little things are full of poetic feeling. So melancholy, you know. Lily was quite a melancholy child. Just look over some of these little things, Amelia, and tell me, if you don't think they are sweet. Read the one beginning,
”Alone, alone, why am I so alone?”
Just as this point the clock struck four, followed by the low chimes from the belfry of the nearby church, and Mrs. Deacon suddenly remembered that she was due at a committee meeting at four-fifteen.
Lily was persuaded to return, and the unfortunate subject of her ”poesy”
was tactfully abandoned, and now that Mrs. Deacon's overwhelming presence was withdrawn, the discussion of scarf and scarlet heels was renewed.
”We'll dress you up, anyway. And I'm sure that when she sees you Mrs.
Deacon will let you have your way,” said Annie Lee. ”Get all your things, and _I'll_ direct.”
Jane, from the window embrasure, watched the proceedings with a critical eye. Of all the older girls of the town-in fact of all the girls in general,-the gentle Lily was her favorite. There was not an atom of heroine-wors.h.i.+p in her att.i.tude; on the contrary, she felt almost older than Lily in many ways, notwithstanding the four years difference in their ages; and she felt rather sorry for Lily, without exactly knowing why. Jane, so capable herself of getting what she wanted, had the tendency of many vigorous natures, to feel a certain good-natured, wondering contempt for weaker and timid characters; but there was something about Lily's weakness and timidity that was so perfectly in keeping with her delicately lovely face, with her daintiness and maidenliness, that it was really one of her charms, a beauty in itself.