“Miss Sophy, drat you, will you sit still?” interpolated Jane Storridge, giving her a shake.
“No, of course I do not!” responded Cecilia. “But Eugenia never wears modish gowns. She says there are more important things to think of than one’s dresses.”
“What a stupid thing to say!” remarked Sophy. “Naturally there are, but not, I hold, when one is dressing for dinner. Who is she?”
“Miss Wraxton. Charles is betrothed to her, and Mama sent to warn me a few minutes ago that she is dining here tonight. We had all of us forgotten it in the bustle of your arrival. I daresay she will be in the drawing room already, for she is always very punctual. Are you ready? Shall we go down?”
“If only my dear Jane would bestir herself a little!” Sophy said, giving up her other wrist to her maid and casting a roguish look into Miss Storridge’s disapproving face.
The maid smiled rather grimly, but said nothing. She did up the tiny buttons, draped a gold-embroidered scarf over her mistress’s elbows, and gave a little nod of approval. Sophy bent and kissed her cheek, saying, “Thank you! Go to bed, and don’t think I will let you undress me, for I assure you I will not! Good night, Jane dear!”
Cecilia, a good deal astonished, said as they descended the stairs together, “I suppose she has been with you a long time? I fear Mama would stare to see you kiss your maid!”
Sophy lifted her brows at this. “Indeed? Jane was my mother’s maid, and my own kind nurse when my mother died. I hope I may do nothing worse to make my aunt stare.”
“Oh! Of course she would perfectly understand the circumstances!” Cecilia said hastily. “Only it looked so odd, you know!”
A decided sparkle in her cousin’s find eyes seemed to indicate that she did not much relish this criticism of her conduct, but as they had by this time reached the drawing-room door she did not say anything, but allowed herself to be ushered into the room.