Part 11 (1/2)

”Things are exactly as I feared,” said mother, and I saw her anxious eyes look across the room as though she were gazing at a vision which gave her the greatest disquietude.

Early the next day I hung father's picture in such a position in the drawing-room that mother could have the eyes following her wherever she turned. She often said that she was never comfortable, nor quite at home, unless under the gaze of those eyes, and we made up our minds not to mind the fact of our new boarders asking questions about the picture, for we were intensely proud of my father, and felt that we could say in a few dignified words all that was necessary, and that my dear father would in a measure protect us in our new career.

Early the next week the first boarders arrived. Three or four families came the same day. Jane said that that was best. Jane was the one who received them. She went into the hall and welcomed them in her brusque tone and took them immediately to their rooms, in each of which printed rules of the establishment were pinned up, and mother and I did not appear until just before dinner, when the different boarders had a.s.sembled in the drawing-room.

”Dress for dinner and make yourself look as nice as you possibly can,”

was Jane's parting shot to me, and I took her advice in my own way.

CHAPTER VIII

THE FLOUR IN THE CAKE

”Put on the least becoming dress you have got, Westenra,” said mother.

”And what is that?” I asked, pausing with my hand on the handle of mother's door.

”Well,” said my mother, considering, ”it is a little difficult, for all your dresses are perfectly sweet; but I think if there is one that suits you rather less than another it is that cloudy blue with the silver gauze over it.”

”O mother! that is a great deal too dressy,” I exclaimed.

”Well, there is the pale primrose.”

”Too dressy again.”

”One of your many white dresses--but then you look exquisite in white, darling.”

”You had better leave it to me, mother,” I said. ”I promise to make myself look as plain and uninteresting and unpretentious as possible.”

And then I shut the door quickly and left her.

The stepping down had been exciting, but the first firm footfall on our new _terra firma_ was more exciting still. The boarders and I were to meet at dinner. For the first time I was to be known to the world as Miss Wickham, who kept a boarding-house in company with her mother and a certain Miss Jane Mullins. It was not a high position according to that set in which I was born. But never mind. Just because my father had won the Victoria Cross would his daughter think nothing degrading which meant an honourable and honest livelihood. So I hastily donned a black net dress which was not too fas.h.i.+onable, and without any ornament whatsoever, not even a string of pearls round my neck, ran downstairs. But the dress was low and the sleeves were short, and I could not keep the crimson of excitement out of my cheeks, nor the fire of excitement out of my eyes. I ran into the drawing-room, exclaiming ”Mother! mother!” and forgot for the moment that the drawing-room no longer belonged to mother and me, but was the property of our paying guests, and our house was no longer ours.

Mrs. and Miss Armstrong were standing near the hearth. Mrs. Armstrong was a thin, meagre little woman, of about forty years of age. Country was written all over her--provincial country. She had faded hair and a faded complexion, and at times, and when not greatly excited, a faded manner. When she was thinking of herself she was painfully affected; when she was not thinking of herself she was hopelessly vulgar. Her daughter was a downright buxom young person, who quite held her own.

Neither Mrs. nor Miss Armstrong were in evening dress, and they stared with amazement and indignation at me. Miss Armstrong's cheeks became flushed with an ugly red, but I tripped up to them just as if there were no such thing as dress in the world, and held out my hand.

”How do you do?” I said. ”I am glad to see you. Won't you both sit down? I hope you have found everything comfortable in your room.”

Then, as Mrs. Armstrong still stared at me, her eyes growing big with amazement, I said in a low voice--

”My name is Wickham. I am one of the owners of this house.”

”Oh, Miss Wickham,” said Mrs. Armstrong, and there was a perceptible tone of relief in her voice. It did not matter how stylish Miss Wickham looked, she was still only Miss Wickham, a person of no importance whatsoever.

”Come here, Marion,” said Mrs. Armstrong, relapsing at once into her commonest manner. ”You must not sit too near the fire, for you will get your nose red, and that is not becoming.”

Marion, however, drew nearer to the fire, and did not take the least notice of her mother's remark.

”So you keep this boarding-house,” said Mrs. Armstrong, turning to me again. ”Well, I am surprised. Do you mind my making a blunt remark?”