"It would be much better to have one big talk,—and get it over," declared Mrs. Taylor philosophically, "better to clear the air, than to have perpetual whispering. Some people are never happy, unless they are picking holes in such as you—whose shoes they are not fit to clean. And now, dearest Arabella, I cannot bear to see you worried,—as you know. If you could only make up your mind to let Nancy take a situation, we should all be so much more comfortable. Remember she is not actually your own niece; only your stepbrother's daughter. Do, do, think it over—good-night, my own—darling!"
"Good-night, Henrietta, and be sure you turn out the electric light on your landing. Last week, you left it on all night, and just think of how that will add to my quarterly bill!"
CHAPTER XVIII
A RESCUE
The winter had been long and dreary, and held no bright gleams for Nancy, who was sensible of a continuous atmosphere of suppression and oppression! It was now the capricious month of April, and in sympathy with its showers, she secretly shed many tears. Mrs. Jenkins had arrived at the definite decision, that her niece was "unsatisfactory"! This expression had been specially coined by Mrs. Taylor, who put it into daily currency. It was true that now and then the girl had absented herself for an hour or two in the afternoon, taking prolonged walks round the Park, or Kensington Gardens,—attended exclusively by the Pom.—She wasted time in the Victoria and Albert Museum, the Natural History Museum, and had even penetrated to the National Gallery!
Also, she had found her tongue, and ventured to talk to and make acquaintance with the elderly crowd assembled every Tuesday. More than all, she had become careless! She had broken a pet vase, value three francs, and—incredible enormity!—lost a library book—dropped it into the street from the top of a motor-'bus. Her last misdeed was of such gravity, that she had been formally summoned to the drawing-room, there to appear before her judges, and be sharply reprimanded. As Mrs. Jenkins, Miss Dolling, and Mrs. Taylor awaited the culprit, the latter said:
"My dear, you can see for yourself, how that girl is growing worse and worse, and becoming more unsatisfactory every day."
(It should be here explained, that Miss Dolling took a lenient view of Nancy's delinquencies, and was on occasion her ineffectual champion. She had even offered to take her to places of amusement—these invitations never came to Nancy's ears—for Miss Dolling cherished a mild, sentimental regard, for the daughter of her one and only love,—whose photograph, enshrined in silver, she treasured as a sacred relic).
Nancy's latest misdeed was of far-reaching consequence. Detailed to fetch her aunt's best transformation from the hairdressers' (where recently it had been renovated), she had left it in the Tube; abandoned it to the heartless jeers of railway officials, and the publicity of the Lost Property Office! The truth was, that Nancy had that morning heard of the death of Mr. Fletcher, and her thoughts were sad, and far away, as she travelled to South Kensington.—This valuable work of hair art, had cost no less than twelve guineas,—and what was poor Mrs. Jenkins to wear that evening at dinner?