Lady Hartley, once being reconciled to the inevitable, was full of kindness for her brother’s future wife. Eve had seen nothing of London and its gaieties, and as the Hartleys had taken a house in Bruton Street for the season, it seemed only a natural thing to take her up to town with them, and initiate her into some of the pleasures to which her future position would entitle her.
“And when you are married I can present you,” she told Eve. “It isn’t worth while going through that ordeal till next year. You will have plenty to do between now and midsummer in getting your trousseau ready.”
Eve blushed, and was silent for a few minutes, and then, as she was alone with Lady Hartley in the morning-room at Redwold, she took courage, and said—
“I’m afraid my trousseau will be a very small one. I asked my father last night what he could do for me, and he said fifty pounds would be the utmost he could give me. It wouldn’t be overmuch if I were going to marry a curate, would it?”
“My dearest Eve, fifty pounds will go a long way, as I shall manage things. Remember I am going to be your sister, a real sister, not a sham one, and while we are buying the trousseau your purse and mine shall be one.”
“Oh, I couldn’t allow that. I couldn’t let myself sponge upon you. I would rather be married in white alpaca.”
“My child, you shall not be married in alpaca. And as for sponging upon me, well, if you are so mightily proud you can pay me back every shilling I spend for you, a year or so hence, out of your pin-money.”
“My pin-money,” repeated Eve. “Father told me how generously Mr. Vansittart had offered to settle an income upon me—upon me who bring him nothing, not even a respectable trousseau.”
“Now, Eve, I won’t hear a word more about the trousseau, until we are going about shopping together.”
“You are too kind, yet I can’t help feeling it hard to begin by taxing your generosity. Isn’t it the custom for the bride to bring the house linen in her trousseau?”