"Like her," said the Duchess, pointing to a lady who was stepping from a carriage. In the lady's face dwelt an expression of much sadness and sweetness, which seemed to be the natural outcome of a sad and sweet nature. The Duchess's observance of the lady drew her attention to the child, and she stopped and spoke, and asked Mrs. Preedy if the pretty creature was her daughter.
"No, indeed, ma'am," said Mrs. Preedy, with a curtsey; "she has no mother, poor dear, and she was just saying that you were like her mamma."
"Her mamma!" exclaimed the lady, with a look of surprise; "where do you come from, then?"
"From Rosemary Lane, if you please," said the obsequious Mrs. Preedy, who was always deferential to those above her.
"And where may that be?"
"In the east, if you please," with another curtsey.
The lady, with languid humour, suggested "Jerusalem?" and then asked the Duchess if she would like a cake. They were standing in front of a confectioner's shop, and the child, with as much self-possession (as Mrs. Preedy afterwards remarked when she related the adventure) as if she had been a born lady, withdrew her hand from Mrs. Preedy, and held it out to the lady, who smilingly led her into the shop, and feasted her and Mrs. Preedy to their heart's content. They had cakes and jellies, and strawberries and cream, and the lady chatted with the Duchess, and praised her beauty, in the most gracious and affable manner. Altogether, it was a very pleasant time, and formed quite an event in Mrs. Preedy's life, who for months and months gave most vivid descriptions of the entertainment, never forgetting to add that when they went into the Park later in the day they met the lady driving in her carriage there, and that she nodded and smiled in recognition of them.
Seth Dumbrick also went westwards in search of a present for the Duchess, to be paid for out of the money which was hers, and staring in the shop-windows, was greatly bewildered by the attractive articles there displayed. Silk sashes and neckerchiefs, natty kid boots and fascinating hats, distracted him with their claims. Had he been a well-to-do man, there is no knowing what extravagance he might have committed. At length he stationed himself before a jeweller's window, and gazed upon the beautiful articles exhibited in it, now deciding upon this, now upon that; and, in the end, upon a pair of gold earrings, tastefully designed to represent shells. He had no idea of the value of such articles, and it was with something of trepidation he entered the shop, where his appearance was viewed with suspicion by the salesman, who saw no fitness between the unshaven chin and grimy fingers of the workman and the graceful devices in gold and silver displayed for sale. A bargain, however, was soon concluded, and Seth became possessor of the earrings on payment of half the money he held in trust for the Duchess. Then he went to a milliner's shop, where he seemed even more out of place than in the jeweller's, and for twenty shillings bought one of the prettiest hats in all the stock. Enjoying in anticipation the delight of the Duchess, he walked home very contentedly, and artfully turned the conversation upon last year's holiday, saying in a melancholy tone:
"No holiday this year, Duchess."
Sally shook her head mournfully.