"You must have had a very cold drive," said Dora to the eldest Miss Stanley, a girl about her own age,—quiet, timid, and awed by the strangeness of everything about her. It was the fourth time the observation had been made; and for the fourth time the same low, half-hesitating "Yes," was given in reply; and there the conversation ended, and Dora turned to her other visitors, hoping to find them more communicative. Unhappily her manner was such as to repel instead of encouraging them; she really wished to be kind and agreeable, but she did not for a moment forget that she was Miss Harrington of Emmerton Hall; and her efforts to be polite were so evident, and she was so very condescending in everything she did and said, that it was impossible for the poor girls to be at ease.
Amy saw that her cousin was very different from what she usually was, but could not comprehend in what the change consisted, and only longed for her to leave off asking them if they liked music and drawing, and whether they preferred home or school, and how many brothers and sisters they had, and talk of something more interesting. Anything would have been preferable to the formality of asking a string of questions; even she herself was a little chilled by Dora's manner, and only ventured to say a few words in an undertone to a rather pretty, delicate girl, who stood by the fire near her. This most disagreeable constraint had lasted about ten minutes, when, to Amy's extreme satisfaction, Miss Morton's voice was heard in the passage, and almost immediately afterwards she entered, followed by Rose, laden with a doll nearly as large as herself, which she was only allowed to play with occasionally. She ran into the room with great glee, to exhibit her treasure to Amy, but shrank away on seeing so many strange faces; every one, however, seemed to feel her appearance an indescribable relief; the shy Miss Stanley stooped to kiss her, and ask how old she was; her sister begged to know the name of the doll; and Amy's friend was delighted to find in her a resemblance to a sister of about the same age; while the two younger children looked with envy and admiration upon the handsome pink frock and bright blue bonnet, which was always the holiday dress of the beautiful doll. But a greater charm than Rose and her doll was soon found in Emily Morton's manner. She went from one to the other, saying something kind to each, in a voice so sweet that it would have made even a commonplace expression agreeable; and after a few trifling questions, which gave her some idea of their peculiar tastes and dispositions, she managed, by making observations of her own, to induce them to do the same; and listening with real and not forced interest to whatever was said, she led them on to describe their companions and their school life, till Dora found, to her surprise, that Hester Stanley, whom she had decided in her own mind to be almost devoid of intellect, and certainly unutterably dull, was a good French and Italian scholar, very fond of drawing, and farther advanced than herself in her acquaintance with books in general; that her sister was extremely amusing; and that Mary Warner had travelled on the Continent, and had many stories to tell of the peculiarities of foreign manners and customs. The younger children looked at Rose for a few minutes without speaking, then ventured to touch the doll, and at last, with one consent, seemed to resolve on being sociable, and retired into a corner of the room to enact the parts of mamma, nurse, and doctor to the poor doll, who, in spite of her brilliant colour, was pronounced to be in a most dangerous state of health, and to require instant advice; while the party collected round the fire, growing bolder and bolder as the noise in the room increased, began at last so entirely to enjoy themselves, that when the dusk of the evening had stolen on them, and a proposition was made by the children for candles, there was a general petition for a few moments' respite, that they might have the luxury and freedom of talking by firelight prolonged. It was a strange contrast to the stiffness of the first half-hour; and Dora hardly knew whether she quite approved of it; it seemed to throw her so completely in the background; but to Amy it was delightful. It was so new, and so interesting to hear a description of a school life, that she thought she could have listened forever; and even Margaret and Miss Cunningham, who came into the room in the middle of one of Julia Stanley's most amusing stories, appeared to take some pleasure in what was passing. Margaret's interest was real; but Miss Cunningham's satisfaction arose from the comparison which she could make in her own mind between the splendour of Rochford Park and the very ordinary style of living to which her new acquaintances had been accustomed; and at every possible opportunity she broke out into exclamations of "Dear me! how strange! how very shabby! what a wretched place your school must be!" till she hoped she had fully convinced them of the fact, that the habits in which she had been brought up were immeasurably superior to theirs. Julia Stanley, however, was not at all awed by Miss Cunningham's grandeur; she continued her stories, talking very fast, and laughing heartily, and caring little what was thought as long as she could make others laugh also; but her sister was not equally insensible; and every now and then she endeavoured to check the flow of Julia's spirits, and to suggest that the customs of their school were not entirely as she had represented.
"You must not believe everything Julia tells you exactly," she said, turning to Miss Cunningham, who seemed quite unable to comprehend the fact of any young ladies being so ill-treated as to have no second course at dinner, no curtains to their beds, nor fires in their rooms. "She runs on so fast that she forgets. We always have puddings on Saturdays; and we have fires when we are ill; and there are curtains in the largest room, only we have never slept there."
"Well, then, bad is the best, is all that I can say for your school," said Miss Cunningham; "and as for ladies being brought up in such a way, how is it possible for them ever to know how to behave, if they are not taken more care of?"
"It must be very uncomfortable," said Dora; "but really I cannot see what a second course, and curtains, and fires, have to do with manners."
"To be sure not," exclaimed Julia; "what does it signify? It is very hard and disagreeable sometimes, and we cry a good deal when first we go there—that is, some of the little ones do; but after a few weeks it is all right, and we eat our cold rice pudding, and think it delicious."
"Cold rice pudding!" repeated Amy, who had a peculiar dislike to it; "do you never have anything but cold rice pudding?"
"Not very often," replied Julia; "but, as I said before, it really does not signify. I assure you, if you were up at six o'clock every day, as we are, and had nothing but hard lessons from morning till night, you would think cold rice pudding one of the nicest things you had ever tasted. I don't think I ever like anything we have at home half as well."
"Well!" exclaimed Miss Cunningham, "I never heard of such a school before; all my notions were, that young ladies lived together, and learned a few lessons, and had French and drawing masters, and ladies' maids, and carriages—that would be agreeable enough; but you might just as well be cottagers' children, if you live so shabbily; and what a difference it must make after your home! How you must miss your carriage and servants!"
"I do not," said Mary Warner; "we have no carriage."