"Nonsense, mamma. My uncle gives me cash to get what I want. You know he is generous enough; and I have set my heart on seeing you in a black satin. Get it soon, and let it be made by a dressmaker of my recommending. Let me choose the pattern. You always want to disguise yourself like a grandmother. You would persuade one that you are old and ugly. Not at all! On the contrary, when well dressed and cheerful you are very comely indeed; your smile is so pleasant, your teeth are so white, your hair is still such a pretty light colour. And then you speak like a young lady, with such a clear, fine tone, and you sing better than any young lady I ever heard. Why do you wear such dresses and bonnets, mamma, such as nobody else ever wears?"
"Does it annoy you, Caroline?"
"Very much; it vexes me even. People say you are miserly; and yet you are not, for you give liberally to the poor and to religious societies—though your gifts are conveyed so secretly and quietly that they are known to few except the receivers. But I will be your lady's-maid myself. When I get a little stronger I will set to work, and you must be good, mamma, and do as I bid you."
And Caroline, sitting near her mother, rearranged her muslin handkerchief and resmoothed her hair.
"My own mamma," then she went on, as if pleasing herself with the thought of their relationship, "who belongs to me, and to whom I belong! I am a rich girl now. I have something I can love well, and not be afraid of loving. Mamma, who gave you this little brooch? Let me unpin it and look at it."
Mrs. Pryor, who usually shrank from meddling fingers and near approach, allowed the license complacently.
"Did papa give you this, mamma?"
"My sister gave it me—my only sister, Cary. Would that your Aunt Caroline had lived to see her niece!"
"Have you nothing of papa's—no trinket, no gift of his?"
"I have one thing."