Part 2 (1/2)
”That would not matter; I never like anything till I have altered it; but here is Baldwin has just sent me word that her mother is dying, and she can't undertake any work for a week. Provoking! could not the woman die just as well after the ball?”
”Oh, aunt!”
”And my maid has no more taste than an owl. What on earth am I to do?”
”Wear another dress.”
”What other can I?”
”Nothing can be prettier than your white mousseline de soie with the tartan tr.i.m.m.i.n.g.”
”No, I have worn that at four b.a.l.l.s already; I won't be known by my colors, like a bird. I have made up my mind to wear the jaune, and I will, in spite of them all; that is, if I can find anybody who cares enough for me to try it on, and tell me what it wants.” Lucy offered at once to go with her to her room and try it on.
”No--no--it is so cold there; we will do it here by the fire. You will find it in the large wardrobe, dear. Mind how you carry it. Lucy! lots of pins.”
Mrs. Bazalgette then rang the bell, and told the servant to say she was out if anyone called, no matter who.
Meantime Lucy, impressed with the gravity of her office, took the dress carefully down from the pegs; and as it would have been death to crease it, and destruction to let its hem sweep against any of the inferior forms of matter, she came down the stairs and into the room holding this female weapon of destruction as high above her head as Judith waves the sword of Holofernes in Etty's immortal picture.
The other had just found time to loosen her dress and lock one of the doors. She now locked the other, and the rites began. Well!!??
”It fits you like a glove.”
”Really? tell the truth now; it is a sin to tell a story--about a new gown. What a nuisance one can't see behind one!”
”I could fetch another gla.s.s, but you may trust my word, aunt. This point behind is very becoming; it gives distinction to the waist.”
”Yes, Baldwin cuts these bodies better than Olivier; but the worst of her is, when it comes to the tr.i.m.m.i.n.g you have to think for yourself.
The woman has no mind; she is a pair of hands, and there is an end of her.”
”I must confess it is a little plain, for one thing,” said Lucy.
”Why, you little goose, you don't think I am going to wear it like this. No. I thought of having down a wreath and bouquet from Foster's of violets and heart's-ease--the bosom and sleeves covered with blond, you know, and caught up here and there with a small bunch of the flowers. Then, in the center heart's-ease of the bosom, I meant to have had two of my largest diamonds set--hus.h.!.+”
The door-handle worked viciously; then came rap! rap! rap! rap!
”Tic--tic--tic; this is always the way. Who is there? Go away; you can't come here.”
”But I want to speak to you. What the deuce are you doing?” said through the keyhole the wretch that owned the room in a mere legal sense.
”We are trying a dress. Come again in an hour.”
”Confound your dresses! Who is we?”
”Lucy has got a new dress.”
”Aunt!” whispered Lucy, in a tone of piteous expostulation.
”Oh, if it is Lucy. Well, good-by, ladies. I am obliged to go to London at a moment's notice for a couple of days. You will have done by when I come back, perhaps,” and off went Bazalgette whistling, but not best pleased. He had told his wife more than once that the drawing-rooms and dining-rooms of a house are the public rooms, and the bedrooms the private ones.