“Of course, odd child! The editor could scarcely afford to pay real artists to put on the heads to his fashion-models after the great expense of them, alone. This is the most exclusive of our magazines, devoted to the art of dress, and the styles in this are copyrighted. That’s such a fine thing about them, they can never become common. But—why do you look at me so strangely?”
“Did I, Cousin Margaret? Beg pardon, if I was rude. I didn’t mean it. I was just—just thinking about that buying me more clothes. Why must I have them? Do you think my mother would like it?”
“Quite likely not. She seems to have taken up very peculiar ideas, out there in that wilderness. But you happen to be living in civilization now and must be clothed in accordance with its demands.”
Jessica laughed. It always amused her to hear dear Sobrante spoken of as “that wilderness,” when her own memory of it was so delightful. And it was a little strange, had either of these two thought about it, that so old a person as Madam should fall into the habit of consulting so young an one as “Little Captain.” But the lady had lived so long alone with servants only that it was a relief to discuss affairs with a real “gentlewoman” and a Waldron, even a girlish one. She had already learned to look into Jessica’s eyes, as into a mirror, for approval or disapproval of her oft-changed attire; and, when it was what her own conscience warned her was “too youthful,” to meet a disappointed expression in the big, blue eyes. They were so clear and far-seeing, with such instant perception of the false or the true, that Cousin Margaret trusted them in spite of herself.
“Well, girlie, what do you think? Would I look well in such a gown?” again rather impatiently demanded the Madam.
“I think you would look beautiful, just beautiful. You always do, dear Cousin. Next to my mother I think you must be the most handsome lady lives. I’ve seen nobody here in this New York, in the carriages we meet in the Park, nor in the stores down town—or up town, either—that can compare with you. I suppose that’s because you are a Waldron. And so—Do you mind if I say it right out?”
“Whether I do or not you are pretty sure to ‘say out’ whatever is in your mind. So do it now,” smilingly answered the other, flattered more than she acknowledged by this sincere admiration of Jessica.
“Well, then, I wish you wouldn’t spend any more money on pretty clothes. I wish you’d give it to the Avenue A people, and all the others like them in this great city. O Cousin Margaret! It just makes my heart ache so I can’t sleep, some nights, thinking they have no soft beds like ours to lie on and so few poor rags to wear while you, while I, have more things than we need. My mother thought three frocks were all I wanted. Two to change and a fresh one for Sunday. Only, of course, at Christmas time it is well to have a prettier one because that is the best day in all the year and one should do it reverence. It would save you so much worry, too, and you wouldn’t get half so tired.”
“Humph! Who ever said that I was tired? Not I, indeed, and who spoke of worry? Oh! that unfortunate accident of Buster’s! I’d rather have given a thousand dollars than have it happen. Your head has been full of maggots—I mean of unwholesomely grave ideas—ever since. I think that Ephraim fosters them, too, and much as I should dislike to separate you two I fear I shall have to do it, unless you both promise to put this Avenue A business out of mind and take life as you should, in your own station. Tired? I’m certain you never heard me complain, little Jessica Trent, nor anybody else.”
“No, Cousin Margaret, and that’s what makes Barnes and me feel so bad.”