“Dear mamma, a white frock, that is all I want. I am sure that is all I want; we can’t afford any more. And as for silk slips—”
“Oh, hold your tongue, Hester, what do you know about it?” cried Mrs. John, exasperated. “You have never been at a ball in your life. You can’t know what’s wanted, like me. There are quantities of other things besides. Shoes—you must have satin shoes and silk stockings, and gloves, and something to wear in your hair. I don’t even know what’s worn now. We used to have wreaths in my day, but perhaps that’s not the fashion at present. When I had not a maid—and of course, poor child, you have no maid—I used to have a hairdresser to do my hair when I was going out. We wore it quite high on the top of our heads, and now you wear it down in the nape of your neck. What a thing fashion is! We had gigot sleeves all puffed out with feather cushions, and I used to wear a lace scarf which was very becoming. We had muslins in my time, nice clear book-muslins, and when you had worn it two or three times for balls you just wore it out in the evenings at home. Tarlatan is not half so profitable,” said Mrs. John, with a very serious face, “but you must have it, I suppose, all the same.”
“Mother,” said Hester, when her mother paused for breath, “I feel quite horrified at all this. Why should I dress up so fine for Ellen’s parties? I shall only be a sort of poor relation. My washed muslin will do very well. Nobody will expect anything better from me.”
“Then that is just why you shall have something better,” said the poor lady, her pale countenance brightening with a pretty pink flush. “You shan’t go at all if you can’t go as my daughter should. You shall have a white first, and then a—no, not a pink; pink used to be my colour, for you know I was pale, and my hair was plain brown, not like yours. Yours is a little too—auburn—for pink. You must have a blue for your second, with silk slips made very simply, and tarlatan over that. White shoes, and white gloves, and my pearls. Oh, how glad I am I kept my pearls! It will be such a pleasure, dear, to see you dressed, it will be like old times again. And you must ask Ellen what to wear in your hair, a wreath, or just one flower at the side, with a spray hanging down over your neck. Mr. Ashton, I am sure, would get it for me in town. For flowers and those sort of things one should always send to London. And you must have a fan. I wonder if my ivory fan would be old-fashioned? I must ask Ellen. And, dear child, don’t stand there doing nothing when there is not a moment to lose, but ring for the tea. We must have tea first. I always feel better after, and then we must put everything down upon paper, and calculate what it will cost, and how we are to do.”
“I don’t want all that,” said Hester again: but the sound of it flattered her youthful ears; for she was only a girl, when all was said.
“Don’t talk any nonsense, child, but ring for the tea,” said Mrs. John, feeling herself for once mistress of the occasion. “But Hester,” she added, in so solemn a tone that Hester came back half frightened to hear what it was, “if you ever have children, as I hope you will, be sure you have one of your girls taught how to cut out, and to look after the dressmaking. If we only could have them made at home, what a saving it would be!”
XXIII
The First of Them
Young Mrs. Merridew’s Thés Dansantes made a great commotion in Redborough. Dancing teas—what did it mean? It meant some nonsense or another. You might be sure it meant nonsense of some kind, as it was Ellen Vernon that was at the bottom of it, the elder people said; but the younger ones were of a different opinion. It did not matter to them so much that Ellen Vernon was silly; indeed the greater part of them were so dazzled by the furs and the bracelets, and the victoria, if not by the brilliant fairness and beaming smiles and prettiness of the bride, that they did not remember Ellen Vernon had been silly, and thought Mrs. Algernon Merridew not only the leader of fashion, but the most amiable and good-natured of all queens of society, the most “easy to get on with” and most full of “go.” Nothing like her and her dresses, and her house and her company, had ever been seen in the quiet, steady-going country town. She made it known graciously, that she was always at home at lunch, and there was scarcely a day that a merry party did not assemble at her house, filling the newly-furnished pretty room with chatter and laughter, and all the distracting devices of careless youth to get rid of a few of its golden hours. And already there had been half a dozen dinners, far too soon and quite unnecessary, as
