[Bonnet begins again, after a pause to make firm
her nerve, catching the hair with infinite solicitude.
Mrs. D. [almost screams]. Mind what you're about! Didn't I tell you to be careful? You've been pulling right along at the same hair! Do consider that it is a human scalp, and not a wig—you are dealing with! Bonny, you're not a bad woman, but you will wear me out. Come, go on with it; it's getting late. [She turns the photo face out once more, and after a moment, as if the sight of it made her repent, she rolls up her eyes angelically to the reflection of Bonnet's face in the mirror.] Bonny, do you think that black moiré of mine would make over nicely for you? I am going to give it to you. No, don't thank me—it makes me look old. Now, my fur shoes.
[Bonnet brings the shoes and begins to struggle
with them.
Mrs. D. [bracing herself against Bonnet's efforts]. I suppose—I suppose I have a very bad temper! [Laughs in a sensible, natural way.] Tell the truth, Bonny; if every mistress had to have a certificate from her maid, you would give me a pretty bad one, wouldn't you? But I was abominably brought up. I used to slap my governesses. And I've had all sorts of illnesses; trouble, too. And I mostly don't mean anything by it. It's just nerves. Poor Bonny! I do treat you shamefully, don't I?
Bonnet [expanding in the light of this uncommon familiarity]. Oh, ma'am, I would give you a character as would make it no difficulty in you getting a first-class situation right away; you may depend upon it, ma'am, I would. Don't this shoe seem a bit tight, ma'am?
Mrs. D. Not at all. It's a whole size larger than the old ones. If you would just be so good as to hold the shoe-horn properly. There, that is it. [Rises and stands surveying the two wraps.] Which shall I wear? [Bonnet draws back for a critical view, but dares not suggest unprompted.] The blue is prettier, but the gray with ermine is more becoming. Oh, Bonny, decide for me quickly, like a tossed-up penny!
Bonnet. Well, I think now I should say the blue one, ma'am.
Mrs. D. [musing]. Should you? But I look less well in it. Surely I would rather look pretty myself than have my dress look pretty, wouldn't I? Give me the gray, and hurry. Mr. Goodhue will be here in a second.... Bonnet, you trying creature! Didn't I tell you to put a hook and eye in the neck of this? Didn't I tell you? Where are your ears? Where are your senses? What on earth do you spend your time thinking about, I should like to know, anyway? I wouldn't wear that thing as it is, not for—not for—— Oh, I'm tired of living surrounded by fools! Take it away—take it away! Bring the other one.... Now, button my gloves. [Looks at herself in the glass, passively letting Bonnet take one of her arms to button the glove. Murmurs.] Ouch! Go softly; you pinch! [Bonnet changes her method, and pulls very gently. Louder.] Ouch! You pinch me! [Bonnet stops short, looks helplessly at the glove, casts up her eyes as if appealing to heaven, then tries again.]
Mrs. D. [screams]. Ouch, ouch, ouch! You pinch like anything! I'm black and blue! [Tears her arm from the quaking Bonnet, fidgets with the button, and pulls it off.] Bonnet, how many times must I tell you to sew the buttons fast on my gloves before you give them to me to put on?... No, they were not! [Pulls off the glove and throws it far across the room. A knock at the door.]
Man's voice [respectfully]. Mr. Goodhue is below, ma'am.