We ten

by Barbara Yechton

But Hilliard followed close behind me. "I'm so sorry!" he repeated. "Why didn't you let me know sooner? May I—"

I got so provoked that I wheeled round suddenly on him,—I think I startled him. "Oh, do stop asking people if you 'may' or 'mayn't do things for them,"—I'm afraid that here I mimicked his tone of voice. "Do the things first, and then ask,—if you must. I declare, you don't know the very first thing about taking care of a girl; why, our Paul could do better."

Hilliard stood stock still and stared at me; his sleepy eyes were wide open, and there was such a bewildered expression on his face that it just set me off laughing, in spite of the tears on my cheeks, and my headache.

"I am exceedingly sorry if I have neglected—" he began stiffly; but before he could say any more I turned and fled.

I fancied I heard his footsteps behind me, and I fairly flew along the beach, into the house, and up to my room, where I began undressing as quickly as I could. But before I was ready for bed, Mrs. Erveng's maid brought a message from her mistress. She was so sorry to hear that I was not well; was there nothing that she could do for me? "Please say that I am going to bed; that will cure my headache quicker than anything else," I called through the keyhole, instead of opening the door. I had a feeling that the Ervengs would think me a crank; but I had got to that pitch that afternoon where I didn't care what anybody thought of me. Then Dillon went away, and I got into bed.

But I couldn't sleep for ever so long: you see the sun had not yet set, and I'm not used to going to sleep in broad daylight; besides, I was very unhappy. As I lay there looking at the brilliant colours of the sky, I thought over what I had said to Hilliard, and the oftener I went over it, the more uncomfortable I got; for I began to see that I'd been very rude—to insult the people I was visiting! I wondered if Hilliard had told his mother what I said; and what she thought of me? Would she send me home? I had declared to Nora that I would behave so badly as to be sent home before the visit was over, but I had not really meant it. I got all worked up over the horrid affair, and if I had had then enough money to pay my expenses to New York, I really think I should have been tempted to climb out of the window, or make my escape in some way or other,—I dreaded so having to face the Ervengs in the morning.

After a long while I fell asleep, and dreamed that Mr. and Mrs. Erveng were holding me fast, while Hilliard stuffed sandwiches down my throat.

But by the next morning my headache was gone, and the sunshine and beautiful view from my window made me feel a new person, though I still dreaded meeting the Ervengs. Usually I dress quickly, but this morning I just dawdled, to put off the evil moment as long as possible. It seemed so strange not to have Nannie, or Miss Marston, or Nora, or any one to tell me what to say or do; I really felt lost without dear old Nannie. I would have been delighted to see her that morning,—we have such nice talks at home while we are dressing!

Before I left home, Nora said particularly, "Now, Betty, do remember that your ginghams are for the mornings and your thinner gowns for the afternoons. Don't put on the first frock that comes to your hand, regardless of whether it is flannel, gingham, or organdi. You know you haven't a great many clothes, so please, I beg of you, for the reputation of the family, take care of them, or you will not have a decent thing to wear two weeks after you get to the Ervengs'."

I was provoked at her for saying this, but I could not resent it very much, for—though I love pretty things as well as anybody does—somehow accidents are always happening to my clothes. Nurse says it's because I am too heedless to think about what I have on, and perhaps it is: yet, when I remember, and try to be careful, I'm simply miserable; and it does seem too silly to make one's self uncomfortable for clothes,—so I generally forget.