“And on your arm I shall fear nothing, papa, dear! And now I will not distress you any more by my nervous fancies. I will go, papa, and behave as well as I can.”
“That is my good, brave girl!”
“And—I know—Mrs. Longman will take good care of baby while we are gone,” said Jennie in a tone of confidence, but with a look of doubt.
“Of course she will! There can be no mistake there! She will take better care of little Essie than you or I could with our best endeavors. ‘Why?’—do you ask?—because she is an experienced nurse and a conscientious woman—and a tender mother! Are those reasons enough?” demanded Hetty, laughing.
Jennie nodded.
The proposed visit to Haymore Hall had for its suspected object a very grave and important matter. Yet these two women began immediately to think of the trifling items—what they should wear!
It is always so! Whether a woman is to be married or executed, her toilet seems to be an affair of the most serious consideration.
Mary Stuart’s dress was as artistically arranged for the block as ever it had been for her bridals.
Jennie’s big trunk was unlocked and invaded. She had several dresses, gifts from her generous friends in New York, much handsomer than Hetty had ever possessed; and mother and daughter were near enough of a size to make any dress in the collection fit either.
Hetty, having her choice, selected a mazarine blue satin, trimmed with deep flounces of Spanish lace, which very well suited her fair, rosy face and sunny brown hair. Jennie chose a ruby silk, trimmed with fringe of the same color, which well set off her rich brunette complexion, dark eyes and dark hair.