“Punish!” cried Adelaide. “Is that what you want? Why, Mamma says children ought to be always pleasure and no trouble to busy fathers. But there, Kate; you are not getting ready—and we are to be at the station at ten.”
“I am waiting for Josephine! Why doesn’t she come?” said Kate, ringing violently again.
“Why don’t you get ready without her?”
“I don’t know where anything is! It is very tiresome of her, when she knows I never dress myself,” said Kate fretfully.
“Don’t you? Why, Grace and I always dress ourselves, except for the evening. Let me help you. Are not those your boots?”
Kate rushed to the bottom of the attic stairs, and shouted “Josephine” at the top of her shrill voice; then, receiving no answer, she returned, condescended to put on the boots that Adelaide held up to her, and noisily pulled out some drawers; but not seeing exactly what she wanted, she again betook herself to screams of her maid’s name, at the third of which out burst Mrs. Bartley in a regular state of indignation: “Lady Caergwent! Will your Ladyship hold your tongue! There’s Lady Jane startled up, and it’s a mercy if her nerves recover it the whole day—making such a noise as that!”
“But Josephine won’t come, and I’m going out, Bartley,” said Kate piteously. “Where is Josephine?”
“Gone out, my Lady, so it is no use making a piece of work,” said Bartley crossly, retreating to Lady Jane.
Kate was ready to cry; but behold, that handy little Adelaide had meantime picked out a nice black silk cape, with hat and feather, gloves and handkerchief, which, if not what Kate had intended, were nice enough for anything, and would have—some months ago—seemed to the orphan at the parsonage like robes of state. Kind Adelaide held them up so triumphantly, that Kate could not pout at their being only everyday things; and as she began to put them on, out came Mrs. Bartley again, by Lady Jane’s orders, pounced upon Lady Caergwent, and made her repent of all wishes for assistance by beginning upon her hair, and in spite of all wriggles and remonstrances, dressing her in the peculiarly slow and precise manner by which a maid can punish a troublesome child; until finally Kate—far too much irritated for a word of thanks, tore herself out of her hands, caught up her gloves, and flew down-stairs as if her life depended on her speed. She thought the delay much longer than it had really been, for she found Lord de la Poer talking so earnestly to her aunt, that he hardly looked up when she came in—something about her Uncle Giles in India, and his coming home—which seemed to be somehow becoming possible—though at a great loss to himself; but there was no making it out; and in a few minutes he rose, and after some fresh charges from Lady Barbara to her niece “not to forgot herself,” Kate was handed into the carriage, and found herself really off.
Then the tingle of wild impatience and suspense subsided, and happiness began! It had not been a good beginning, but it was very charming now.