Mrs. Gwinn came into her sitting-room and rang the bell for her maid, who, just then, passed the door, hurrying to the kitchen.
“Where are you going, Alice?” she asked.
“Oh! ma’am, the hot water pipes are out of order, and I am going below for some warm water for Miss Gwendoline’s bath.”
“Hot water!” cried the mother, “on such a warm day? You know Miss Gwinn always takes a cold bath.”
“But, mamma,” said a voice from above, “I feel awfully lazy this morning, and you know there’s nothing requires so much exertion as a cold bath; besides, it was always your idea and not mine. Do let me have my own way occasionally!”
“Her own way,” thought her mother—“that she has very often,” and she glanced at the vision above her, in its flowing pink wrapper, the fair arms resting on the balusters and the tumbled bronze hair falling on her shoulders. Then, closing her sitting-room door, she shut her eyes for a moment, and, placing her hand over them, to exclude all but her thoughts, said aloud:
“Yes, Gwendoline must marry for money—she is too beautiful for a cottage—and we sell our idols high.”
When Gwendoline was dressed, she came downstairs and greeted her mother. She wore a long white morning dress, trimmed with lace and ribbon; and very lovely she looked, as she sank upon the sofa in the middle of the room.
“Did you enjoy the reception, Gwendoline?”