“No; I held out as long as I could. I am—or rather was—the useful one at home.”
“And did your aunt and uncle stipulate for the most useful niece?”
“By no means—they—they, to tell you the truth, they asked for the pretty one, and I am not the beauty of the family.”
“No? Am I to take your word for that, or are you merely fishing?”
“I assure you that I am not. I am afraid my aunt will be disappointed; but it was unavoidable. My eldest sister writes, and could not well give up what she calls her literary customers. My next sister is—is—not strong, and so they sent me—a dernier ressort.”
She was speaking quite frankly to this stranger, and felt rather ashamed of her garrulity; but he had a pleasant voice, he was the first friendly soul she had come across since she had left home, and she was desperately home-sick. A long solitary railway journey had only increased her complaint, and she was ready to talk of home to any one—would probably have talked of it to the chuprassi,—if he could have understood her!
Her escort had been an unscrupulous, selfish little woman, whose nurse, having proved a bad sailor, literally saddled her good-natured, inexperienced charge with the care of two unruly children, and this in a manner that excited considerable indignation among her fellow passengers.
“Why should you call yourself a dernier ressort?” inquired her companion, after a pause, during which they continued to stumble along, she holding timidly by the young man’s arm.
“Because I am; and I told them at home with my very last breath that I was not a bit suited for coming out here, and mixing with strangers—nothing but strangers—and going perpetually into what is called ‘smart’ society, and beginning a perfectly novel kind of life. I shall get into no end of scrapes.”
“May I ask your reason for this dismal prophecy?”