“Maybe Ellen can do it for you to-night before she goes.”
“I’ll ask her. The sleeves ought to be shorter too, you know. Maybe she could cut them and I’ll help her with the sandwiches if she does and wipe the dishes for her.”
They seemed to forget that Ellen’s labors at Mrs. Horton’s party were given as favors. Mrs. Horton’s face had brightened at her daughter’s new tone of co-operation. She even ventured a question and was answered without rebuff.
“Who was it, Flissy?”
“Why, it was Matthew Allenby. You wouldn’t know, mother, but he is the hardest man in town to get to notice you. He’s not a boy, you know. The man must be nearly forty and a bachelor. I’d never met him till last night; Owen introduced him and we had three dances. He dances horribly and is perfectly crazy about it. He’s a mining man—scads of money—and lives alone somewhere. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if——”
She was really rather pathetic and almost sweet as she fell into her dream, mercenary as it was, for she wanted only things of beauty and she had no cruelty developed in her yet—no deliberate cruelty; unconscious disregard of other people perhaps was the worst of her. She sat dreaming her dream of advancement as most girls of her age dream of love and she did love the things of which she dreamt.
“Come, Fliss, please dress. It’s getting on towards noon and I want to clear this room out.”
Fliss went her way to her room and thence to the little bathroom, where she lay in the tub, from which the enamel was peeling, and wondered just how she would handle Matthew Allenby. Then she dressed for the bridge party, for it was after noon and she knew that her mother’s guests arrived early and stayed late. Her oldest afternoon dress served for them, but with her black fringe of hair setting off the softness and whiteness of her skin, she was so pretty even in her old dress that her mother, bustling into corsets in the next room—she and Fliss always omitted lunch if possible—looked at her with an expression of pride. It meant a good deal to show off Fliss to her friends. She had so little chance.
“But don’t expect me to fill in at a bridge table if any of the old prize-hunting harpies don’t come, because I won’t. I’m going to talk to Ellen and plan the best way to fix over my georgette. By the way, where is Ellen working, now that the Grangers have gone to California?”
Her mother did not know. She knew that Ellen had just taken a new place.