Poor Cherry! Of the few parties of pleasure of her life, this was that which most reminded her of the old woman of Servia! After having Marilda's glum face opposite through the drive, she was indeed most kindly welcomed by Mr. Grinstead; but how could she enjoy the attention that was so great a kindness and honour, when every pause before a picture was a manifest injury to her companions?
Mrs. Underwood indeed had occupation in peeping under holland covers, estimating the value of carpets and curtains, and admiring the gilt frames; but this did not hold out as long as the examination of each favourite picture in detail; and what was worse, Marilda plumped herself down in the first chair in each room, and sat poking the floor with her parasol, the model of glum discontent. How could the mind be free for the Madonna's celestial calm, or the smiling verisimilitude of portraiture? how respond or linger, when the very language of art was mere uninteresting jargon to impatient captives, who thought her comprehension mere affectation? While to all other discomforts must be added the sense of missing one of the best opportunities of her life, and of ill responding to a gracious act of condescension.
She came home tired to death, and with a bad headache, that no one took the trouble to remark; and she dressed for dinner with a sense that it mattered to no one how she felt.
Just as she was ready, Marilda came gravely in, sitting down in preparation, Cherry felt, for something dreadful; but even her imagination failed to depict the fact.
'Geraldine,' was the beginning, 'Alda wishes you to hear that she has put an end to the engagement.'
Cherry absolutely screamed, 'Oh, oh, don't let her do that! It would be so dreadful!'
Marilda looked severe. 'I don't suppose you thought what it was coming to.'
'O! I have often been sorry to see things, but it seemed so atrocious to think so.'
'Then you must have known you were doing wrong.'
'What—how—what have I done? I don't know what you mean!'