This was our poetic way of describing the consignments of cast-off clothes Aunt Clara sent us out of her affluence from time to time. She was mother's only sister, who had married money, while mother had merely married brains. It was curious that each congratulated herself on having made the better match. Mother would speak of Mr. Redmayne somewhat contemptuously as the "Manchester man" or the "Cotton spinner." She never forgot that he was a self-made man, though she was wont to say that this fact was to his credit.
Aunt Clara and her husband occasionally came to town; but they always stayed at the Grand Hotel and seldom bestowed much of their time on us. She did not resemble mother in the least. Large and stout, and magnificently attired, she seemed to fill our small drawing-room when she condescended to pay us a visit, and to make our stairs and passages shrink as she passed along them. She would assume a pitiful air, which was very irritating, ask innumerable questions, and show clearly her belief that she could have managed in every way better than our mother did. But what excited within us the most indignation was her betrayal that she held our father in light esteem as a man whose talents were wasted because he had not made money by them.
So Mrs. Redmayne's visits were distinct trials, and we were thankful they did not occur often. She had five children, three of whom were girls, but we knew almost nothing about our cousins except what could be gathered from an inspection of their abandoned finery, parcels of which frequently arrived for our use. Mother had too much good sense to refuse what was really a help; but I think it galled her pride to see how extravagantly our cousins were attired, though we all decided that their style of dress showed a sad lack of taste.
"Hurrah!" cried Olive as she heard Peggy's announcement. "What could be more opportune! Now we shall be able to set you up, Nan."
I shook my head.
"Not in black," I said, "if red or yellow were considered mourning in this country we might find something useful. Have you forgotten the riddle you once propounded, Olive—why is Aunt Clara like the virtuous woman of the Book of Proverbs?"
"I never heard that riddle!" cried Peggy. "What is the answer?"
"Because all her household are clothed with scarlet," I replied.
Peggy laughed and clapped her hands, but Olive said:
"That is a slight exaggeration. I don't despair of finding something that may be useful for you, Nan. Run and bring the box up here, there's a dear, Peggy. You don't mind, Nan?"