The day of the invitation arrived. Dexter was to be at Sir James’s in time for lunch, and directly after breakfast he watched his opportunity and followed Helen into the drawing-room.
“I say,” he said; “I can’t go there, can I?”
“Why not?” said Helen.
“Lookye here.”
“Why, Dexter!” cried Helen, laughing merrily; “what have you been doing!”
“Don’t I look a guy!”
There was a change already in the boy’s aspect; his face, short as the time had been, was beginning to show what fresh air and good feeding could achieve. His hair had altered very slightly, but still there was an alteration for the better, and his eyes looked brighter, but his general appearance was comical all the same.
Directly after breakfast he had rushed up to his room and put on the clothes in which he had taken his involuntary bath. These garments, as will be remembered, had been obtained in haste, and were of the kind known in the trade as “ready-mades,” and in this case composed of a well-glazed and pressed material, containing just enough wool to hold together a great deal of shoddy.
The dip in the river had been too severe a test for the suit, especially as Maria had been put a little more out of temper than usual by having the garments handed to her to dry.
Maria’s mother was a washerwoman who lived outside Coleby on the common, and gained her income by acting as laundress generally for all who would intrust her with their family linen; but she called herself in yellow letters on a brilliant scarlet ground a “clear starcher.”