“Mabel, Mabel!” cried the lady to her maid, “bring these dancing figures more to the front—there! and the coloured flowers to form a pretty border round them!” and she started up from her seat to show the exact spot on the screen which she wished to have decorated by the woodcuts.
Mrs. Warner’s usually serene countenance showed signs of impatience and annoyance; they had quite passed away, however, before the lady returned to her seat.
“I really must beg for half an hour of your earnest, undivided attention,” said the visitor. “I have walked some distance on purpose to let you know the full extent of the evil which threatens you.”
Madame L’Ame’s eyes were wandering curiously over the dress of Jessy—her bonnet, her bracelets, her flounces; and at the first pause in her visitor’s address she inquired, “Pray, who is your milliner, my dear?”
Mrs. Warner rose in despair; she had given up all hope of engaging the mind of her weak and frivolous acquaintance on anything beyond the trifles of the hour. She quitted the apartment and the house, but not before Madame L’Ame had detailed to her all the petty gossip of the neighbourhood, and asked her opinion on various important subjects, such as the fit of a glove, or the tint of a riband.
“Mamma!” exclaimed Jessy, when they stepped out into the open air, glad to escape from society so insipid, “who would ever have believed Madame L’Ame to be the owner of so beautiful a house! Surely she is quite out of her mind!”
“She is weak in her intellect, I fear.”
“Weak!—oh, mamma, I do not believe that she has any intellect at all! She seemed to think more of that monkey than of all the splendid fortune of which you were telling her; and I do believe that she would care more about losing a few of her paltry beads and pictures than for forfeiting a kingdom, if she had one. I never saw any one so silly!”
“Ah, my child,” said Mrs. Warner, quietly, “let us take care that we ourselves are not betrayed into greater and more fatal folly. If it is sad to see the mere outward appearance alone regarded, the furnishing of the mind neglected, how much sadder to see the soul, unworthy mistress of a beautiful mansion, itself unlovely and stunted, devoted to trifles unworthy its regard, while its highest interests are forgotten! Have we never met with one to whom the most important of all subjects appeared tedious and uninteresting? who cared more for the amusement of the moment than the happiness of ages to come? whom serious conversation only wearied, though it might regard a future crown to be inherited or lost, and who would rather listen to any tale of idle gossip than to a message of glad tidings from heaven?”
Jessy walked home silent and reflecting. For the first time in her life she thought less of the “cottage of clay” which she had so delighted to adorn, than of the dweller therein, the immortal soul.