“I can hardly realise it, mother, it is such a surprise this dismal morning. I never was so happy in my life, not even that time when I was engaged to Major Evans, and we thought he had four thousand a year; he had a tubby figure and a red nose. You see he invites Mossoo, and I used to think he did not like him. It’s well he mentioned my treasure, for I could not have been parted from him. ‘Love me, love my dog.’ And about my trousseau? You will give me a good one, won’t you, like a dear old mammy?” she said, confronting her parent with sparkling eyes, “I can do the millinery myself if I have time. I have so often thought it over, and made lists in my mind, and I know exactly what I want—for it has always been the dream of my life to go to India. I shall want a saddle and habit, at least four ball-dresses, and a ruby velvet dinner dress, mammy darling, I must have that, and your old rose point, and sable tails, and the diamond brooch that was your grandmother’s. You know you won’t be going out, once you have got me off your hands, and I shall want tea-gowns, and tailor-made dresses, and dozens of boots and shoes—and only a month!” and she paused in her walk, and gesticulated with her arms, like a figure in a ballet.
“Yes, only a month,” echoed her mother, sadly.
“He is very nice and very good-looking, isn’t he?” she continued. “I shall not be ashamed when I am asked to point out my husband.”
“No,” assented her parent, absently.
“I had always an idea that he liked me, although he was so self-contained. Those are the sort of men who have deepest feelings. He was terribly cut up the day he went away, but he was very reserved, and never said anything straight out. He seems in a great hurry now,” and she laughed triumphantly. “Does he not? There’s the telegram,” glancing at the letter, “I shall send it off sharp, and put the poor fellow out of his suspense. Oh! isn’t he fond of me? The telegram will cost a good deal; give me your purse, dear, and I’ll send Betty up the town. I wonder what Betty will say?”
Yes, indeed, what would Betty say?
“I’ll go this moment and tell her,” she rattled on, with brilliant eyes and heightened colour, and she quitted the room with a buoyant step, and ran downstairs, leaving her mother seated in her arm-chair, with a bowed head, and a heavy heart.
How would Betty bear the blow? And what a pretty creature Belle was, when in good spirits; how easily elated, or cast down.
If it had been Belle who was to stay behind, and Betty that had been going? she dared not allow her mind to dwell on that awful alternative. “Yes, yes,” she muttered, as she rose and straightened her cap at the glass, and surveyed her own anxious white face. “A mother’s first duty is to her own flesh and blood, and my conscience tells me that I have done mine.”
Mrs. Redmond’s conscience!