“Yours faithfully,
“Hildegarde Somers.”
“Well, so you’ve had a letter from her ladyship!” cried Miss Skuce. “I saw the servant leave it just now. I am certain she is enchanted at the prospect of seeing you!”
Emma commanded her countenance sufficiently to nod and smile. Oh, what hypocrites we are! Speaking for myself, I could have torn the note into fifty little pieces, and stamped upon it—yes, and it does me good to say so; but Emma had a sweet, long-suffering, gentle nature, whereas I was ever notorious for having a turbulent disposition and a proud spirit.
“She is in town this morning,” continued Miss Skuce, and she folded her hands and arranged her draperies, evidently prepared to indulge us with a protracted sitting. “I am certain she is coming to see you. No!”—starting a little—“why, that is the Abbey carriage passing now. Look, Gwen, look!”
I bent my head forward, and saw a well-appointed landau, with fine big horses and powdered servants. Lady Hildegarde was lying back, wrapped in costly furs, and was engaged in an animated conversation with another lady—whose face was most beautifully painted.
“They lunch early, you see,” explained Miss Skuce, apologetically. “She will be in this evening without fail”—rising as she spoke—“and if she says anything about me, you can tell her that I have been looking after you, dear Mrs. Hayes, and making you take care of your precious health.” And she simpered herself out of the room.
Lady Hildegarde did not call that evening—no, not for a whole week. I noticed her driving by on several occasions. As she did not know me by sight, I ventured on a good stare. She was a wonderful woman for her age—fifty (so said the “Peerage”), and she seemed very sprightly and entertaining as she talked to her invariable companion, always in the same vivacious fashion.
“How well she looks,” exclaimed Emma, peeping from the background; “how young, and handsome, and prosperous! No wonder the other lady laughs—she was always so amusing and irresistible.”