“Did you like it? I’m glad. Me ould mother taught us ironin’, back in Skibbereen; she’d have broke our legs from under us if we’d lef’ so much as a crease in the tail of a shirt. There’ll be no frock among all them fine young ladies at the picnic lookin’ betther than yours, miss. Just you take it aisy, now, an’ don’t get tired; I’ll keep me eye on Bella an’ see she don’t put down fish-knives for the quality to use for their porridge!” She picked up my cup and departed.
I found myself singing as I dressed. Julia always had an uplifting effect upon me: and with all her quaint friendliness there was never any lack of respect. Occasionally I had daydreams, in which Colin had won Tattersall’s sweep or found a gold-mine, so that we swam in amazing wealth; and always in my dreams we transferred Julia from The Towers to grace our newly acquired marble halls. Julia herself was much uplifted at the prospect, rather dismaying me by a childlike belief that some day the vision would become reality. I knew how little chance there was of that; still—where would one be without even hopeless dreams?
I greeted Mrs. McNab at breakfast in some trepidation, the memory of the tragic meeting of the previous night weighing upon me. To my relief, she had evidently decided to ignore it: she gave me a pleasant “good morning,” and actually inquired whether I had slept well—a courtesy somewhat marred by the fact that she did not listen to my reply. That, however, was nothing unusual with Mrs. McNab: her attention rarely lasted beyond one’s first speech. It used to give one the rather embarrassing feeling of talking into a telephone disconnected at the other end.
The house-party trooped off as soon as breakfast was over, accompanied by Judy and Jack, whose spotless condition would, I felt grimly certain, not endure beyond the first landing-place. Harry McNab lingered to give me final instructions.
“I’ve told Bence to be on hand when he’s wanted, in case Mother forgets,” he said. “He’s to carry everything down to the boat-house—don’t you go making a baggage-mule of yourself, Miss Earle. Will you be down about half-past twelve? I can’t be quite certain of being there for you on time, but I promise I won’t keep you waiting long. We’ll all have enormous appetites, so I hope you and Mother Winter have fixed up heaps of lunch, and that it isn’t all Beryl’s kickshaws! I’ll want dozens of sandwiches—big, thick ones, with the crust left on!”
“I’ll make you up a special package,” I told him. “But don’t let your sister see them, or I’ll be eternally disgraced.”
“Great Scott, all the other fellows will want them, too!” he laughed. “Make us plenty, and we’ll get behind a rock and devour them where Beryl can’t see them. Beryl’s far too refined for the sort of picnic we’re going to have to-day!”
I braved Mrs. Winter’s wrath by going to the kitchen to cut sandwiches of a size remarkable enough to satisfy the hungriest; but this light exercise was the only work I was permitted to do that morning, for Julia and the cook effectually blocked any attempts I made to justify my position as a paid helper. Finally, I gave up trying to find work, and went off to my room, where I read Greenmantle and spent a morning of utter peace and enjoyment, until it was time to dress. Julia was waiting for me when I came downstairs, and nodded approval of my frock.
“ ’Tis aisy seen that bit of linen came out of Ireland,” she said. “It do hang lovely, miss: an’ that big black hat wit’ one rose in it is just what it wants. You wouldn’t mind, now, comin’ out by way of the kitchen, an’ lettin’ Mrs. Winter see you?”
“I meant to,” I said.