“Of course,” said Harriot, “it won’t be anything like our parties were before this war began, but we’ll have a good time all the same and you needn’t worry about partners.”
Dorothea had heard a great deal about entertainments since her arrival the day before and it had set her wondering. There had been continual talk of dances to come, and references to balls at this or that place, until she had realized that nearly every night was an occasion for some sort of gayety that continued in spite of the fact that the country was suffering from want of food and clothing and that the brave fellows with whom the beautiful girls danced might lose their lives in battle the next day. She had not begun to think seriously over this phase of her new life, but after this news from England she expected some sign of a depressed spirit and would not have been surprised to find the evening’s plans abandoned.
The May household did not dress till after supper, which, in consequence, was a rather scrambled affair. The men had returned as usual, and there was the customary banter among them as they sat about the long table. In the center of this whirl was April, the leader in all the laughter, and Dorothea looked at her wonderingly, thinking of Lee Hendon. Could this bright girl keep up so courageous a spirit, knowing that her lover was suffering? Dorothea could scarcely believe it. Either her cousin did not care for Lee Hendon as was reported, or else she had met him and had given him the consolation he stood so much in need of, if he could be judged from the glimpse she had had of him through the window.
But on her way upstairs to dress she caught sight of April’s face when her cousin was off her guard, and it wore a look of misery. Dorothea went straight to her room, assailed with new doubts, finding now no explanation that would satisfy against this evidence of a hidden sorrow.
Lucy was on her knees before the fire, setting slippers and silk stockings to warm. The pretty colored girl was vastly proud of her new young lady’s magnificent possessions. At the moment, however, she had a grievance.
“Missy, honey,” she began complainingly, “when yoh comes in, cain’t yoh ring for Lucy, please, to take youh hat and sacque?”
“But I don’t always need you, Lucy,” Dorothea replied with a smile.
“’Deed, missy, yoh needs me more’n yoh knows of,” the girl went on. “When I comes up here what does I find? Youh hat on the baid!”
“I thought I could put it away later,” Dorothea said, not at all understanding Lucy’s complaint.
“’Deed, missy, ’at’s what Lucy’s for—to put away youh pretties,” the girl replied, evidently still more distressed. “Don’t yoh know yoh must never put youh hat on the baid?”