“Faint hearts are usually false hearts, choosing sin rather than suffering.”—Argyle, before his execution.
Mrs. Gentry had attired herself in her new spring costume, a feuillemorte silk, with a bonnet trimmed to match, of the frightful coal-hod shape, with sable roses and a bristling ruche. It was just such a bonnet as Proserpine, Queen of the Shades, might have chosen for a stroll with Pluto along the shore of Lake Avernus.
After many satisfactory glances in the mirror, Mrs. Gentry sat down and trotted her right foot impatiently. Tarquin, entering, announced the carriage.
“Well, go to Miss Ellen, and ask when she’ll be ready.”
Five minutes Mrs. Gentry waited, while the horses, pestered by stinging insects, dashed their hoofs against the pavements. At last Tarquin returned with the report that Miss Ellen’s room was empty.
“Has Pauline looked for her?”
“Yes, missis.”
“Ask Esha if she has seen her.”
Pauline, standing at the head of the stairs, put the question, and Esha replied testily from the kitchen: “Don’t know nuffin ’bout her. Hab suffin better ter do dan look af’r all de school-gals in dis house.”
Pauline turned from the old heathen in despair, and suggested that perhaps Miss Ellen had stepped out to buy a ribbon or some hair-pins.