“He is very well,” said my Aunt Dorothea. “He is away somewhere—men always are. At the Court, I dare say.”
How strange it did sound! I felt as if I had come into a new world.
“I hope that is not your best gown, child?” said my Aunt Dorothea.
“But it is, Aunt—my best tea-gown,” I answered.
“Then you must have a better,” replied she. “It is easy to see that was made in the country.”
“Certainly it was, Aunt. Fanny and I made it.”
My Aunt Dorothea shrugged her shoulders, gave me a glance which said plainly, “Don’t tell tales out of school!” and turned to another lady in the group.
At Brocklebank we never thought of not saying such things. But I see I have forgotten many of my Carlisle habits, and I shall have to pick them up again by degrees.
When we went up to bed, I found that Grandmamma had asked Annas to stay in London. Annas replied that her father had given her leave to stay a month if she wished it and were offered the chance, and she would be very pleased: but that as Flora was her guest, the invitation would have to include both. Grandmamma glanced again at Flora, and took another pinch of snuff.
“I suppose she has some Courtenay blood in her,” said she. “And Drummond is not a bad name—for a Scotswoman. She can stay, if she be not a Covenanter, and won’t want to pray and preach. She must have a new gown, and then she will do, if she keep her mouth shut. She has a fine pair of shoulders, if she were only dressed decently.”