"I see. It's evident I must face the music--Miss Antoinette Southwode's searching soprano, and Mr. Clifford Burnham-Brisbane's wabbly tenor--and tea and little cakes. Since it's my duty I 'll do it. But, mother dear, please don't make many engagements for me. Give it out that I 'm eccentric--that Miss Cockburn told me positively, before I came away from Helmswood, that after a severe course of study under her unexceptionable tutelage I must have absolute relaxation. Say that I have no fine clothes, no floppy hats covered with roses, suitable for lawn-parties. Say anything, but after to-day don't make me go--unless I most awfully want to. Promise--please!"
Two firm tanned hands clasped themselves behind Mrs. Townsend's neck, two importunate black-lashed blue eyes looked at her beseechingly. The mother sighed.
"Child, what shall I do, with two of you? Here is Jane, accepting her invitations under protest, and now you are going to be still more unreasonable."
"Is Jane another? Then why not just make a simple division of labour? You and Olive play the society parts, and give Jane and me the domestic ones."
"My dear, nothing can be so unfortunate for a girl, or for a young married woman, as to become known as peculiar. Of course you are not serious--no girl of your age is ever serious in declaring that she wants nothing to do with society--but it distresses me to have you even talk as you are doing. Go and dress, and look your best, dear, and don't worry me with this sort of thing. I am quite worn out already. Doctor Warrener advises a course of baths at a rest-cure, and I think I shall have to follow his advice."
"I'm sorry," and Shirley kissed her mother, with a pat upon the smooth white cheek, where faint lines were beginning to show. Then she went away to dress, discarding the short skirt and canvas shoes with a smothered breath of regret, but appearing, in due course of time, in a costume eminently suitable for a garden-party, at least from her own point of view. Her mother did not see her until the carriage was at the door, and then it was too late for her to do more than to murmur:
"My dear, if that is the best you can do, I must take you to a dressmaker at once. White linen is well enough for some occasions, and that hat----Did you tell me that Miss Cockburn advised it, and you got it in Bond Street? But the effect is decidedly more girlish than is necessary."
"I should think you would want me as infantile as possible, with Olive to do the dressy young lady. You and Jane and Olive, with your
'Ribbons and laces,
And sweet, pretty faces,'
need a plain little schoolgirl to set you off. And I shall not be 'out' until next winter. I 'm all right, mother dear. Miss Cockburn was always delighted with white linen, and discouraged fussy frocks. I 'm really beautifully 'English,' and you should be satisfied. Girls are n't allowed to grow up half so fast over there as here, and I think it is a sensible thing."