“An’ so handy as she is,” continued Mrs Wishing, her wandering gaze caught for a moment by Lilac’s active little figure, “an’ that’s all your up-bringing, Mrs White, as I was saying just now to Mrs Greenways.”
Mrs White, who was now pouring out the tea, looked quickly up at the mention of Mrs Greenways. She would not ask, but her very soul longed to know what had been said.
“She was talkin’ about Lilac as I was in at Dimbleby’s getting a bunch of candles,” continued Mrs Wishing, “sayin’ how her picture was going to be took; an’ says she, ‘It’s a poor sort of picture as she’ll make, with a face as white as her pinafore. Now, if it was Agnetta,’ says she, ‘as has a fine nateral bloom, I could understand the gentleman wantin’ to paint her.’”
“I s’pose the gentleman knows best himself what he wants to paint,” said Mrs White.
“Lor’, of course he do,” Mrs Wishing hastened to reply; “and, as I said to Mrs Greenways, ‘Red cheeks or white cheeks don’t make much differ to a gal in life. It’s the upbringing as matters.’”
Mrs White looked hardly so pleased with this sentiment as her visitor had hoped. She was perfectly aware that it had been invented on the spot, and that Mrs Wishing would not have dared to utter it to Mrs Greenways. Moreover, the comparison between Lilac’s paleness and Agnetta’s fine bloom touched her keenly, for in this remark she recognised her sister-in-law’s tongue.
The rivalry between the two mothers was an understood thing, and though it had never reached open warfare, it was kept alive by the kindness of neighbours, who never forgot to repeat disparaging speeches. Mrs White’s opinions of the genteel uselessness of Bella and Gusta were freely quoted to Mrs Greenways, and she in her turn was always ready with a thrust at Lilac which might be carried to Mrs White.
When the widow had first heard of the artist’s proposal, her intense gratification was at once mixed with the thought, “What’ll Mrs Greenways think o’ that?”
But she did not express this triumph aloud. Even Lilac had no idea that her mother’s heart was overflowing with pleasure and pride because it was her child, her Lilac, whom the artist wished to paint. So now, though she bit her lip with vexation at Mrs Wishing’s speech, she took it with outward calmness, and only replied, with a glance at her daughter:
“Lilac never was one to think much about her looks, and I hope she never will be.”