I went, not without a pang of wounded pride, but too happy in the hope of seeing him again, for thought of much else. Lady Catherine was in her dressing-room, and several ladies, whom I afterward learned were guests from London, had joined her, it seems, curious to see the wild wood-nymph who had made a sensation at the hunt.
Lady Catherine half rose from her silken lounge as I entered, and motioned me to sit down on an embroidered ottoman, first lifting from it a little tan-colored spaniel, which she settled beside her on the couch. I sat down, with a burning forehead, for it was easy to see that she placed me and the dog on an equal level, if indeed the animal did not meet with higher estimation than the human pet.
“Isn’t she a spirited, wild little beauty?” she said, addressing a young girl some two years older than myself, perhaps, who was busy working seed-pearls into a bit of embroidery.
The young lady looked coldly up, and, after scanning me from head to foot, dropped her eyes again, murmuring something about my being older than she had supposed. Lady Catherine drew her hand down the folds of my hair, exclaiming at its thickness and lustre, just as she had handled the silky ears of her King Charles a moment before.
“Did you ever see anything so long and so raven black,” she said, uncoiling a heavy braid from around my head, and holding it up at full length.
“That sort of hair is often seen in persons of mixed blood,” answered the young lady, without lifting her eyes, “long, but of a coarser texture. I must confess black is not my favorite color.”
“You must take an interest in this poor child—indeed you must, Estelle; I have quite depended on it—she will be quick to learn: won’t you, child? Let her look over some of your drawings, Estelle. I dare say she never saw anything like them in her life!”
The young lady kept at her work, not seeming to relish the idea of amusing a creature so disagreeable as she evidently found me. Lady Catherine arose; she spoke to the young girl in a subdued voice, but not a syllable escaped me.
“Nay, love, you must. It will please George more than anything; besides, I promised as much to her father in order to induce him to abandon that horrid way of life. It is quite a moral duty to civilize the child, now that the parents are married; George looks upon it in this light, I assure you.”
“I would do anything to please him, you know,” said the girl, half sullenly, “but he never sees my efforts; never cares for them.”