Such was the substance of Maddy’s passionate outpouring of her griefs to the highly perplexed doctor, who, after quieting her somewhat, ascertained that the greatest present trouble was the deciding what dress was suitable to the occasion. The doctor had never made dress his study, but as it happened he liked blue, and so suggested it, as the one most likely to be becoming.
“That!” and Maddy looked confounded. “Why, grandma never let me wear that, except on Sunday; that’s my very best dress.”
“Poor child; I’m not sure it was right for you to come here where the life is so different from the quiet, unpretentious one you have led,” the doctor thought, but he merely said: “It’s my impression they wear their best dresses here, all the time.”
“But what will I do when that’s worn out! Oh, dear, dear, I wish I had not come!” and another impetuous fit of weeping ensued, in the midst of which Jessie came back, greatly disturbed on Maddy’s account, and asking eagerly what was the matter.
Very adroitly the doctor managed to draw Jessie aside, while as well as he was able he gave her a few hints with regard to her intercourse with Maddy, and Jessie, who seemed intuitively to understand him, went back to the weeping girl, soothing her much as a little mother would have soothed her child. They would have such nice times, when Maddy got used to their ways, which would not take long, and nobody would laugh at her, she said, when Maddy expressed her fears on that point. “You are too pretty even if you do make mistakes!” and then she went into ecstasies over the blue muslin, which was becoming to Maddy, and greatly enhanced her girlish beauty. The tear stains were all washed away, Jessie using very freely her mother’s eau-de-cologne, and making Maddy’s cheeks very red with rubbing, the nut-brown hair was brushed until it shone like satin, a little narrow band of black velvet ribbon was pinned about Maddy’s snowy neck, and then she was ready for that terrible ordeal, her first dinner at Aikenside. The doctor was going to stay, and this helped to relieve her somewhat.
“You must come to the housekeeper’s room and see her first,” Jessie said, and with a beating heart and brain bewildered by the elegancies which met her at every turn, Maddy followed to where the dreaded Mrs. Noah, in rustling back silk and a thread lace collar, sat sewing and greatly enjoying the leisure she had in her master’s absence.
Mrs. Noah knew who Maddy was, remembering the old man said that she would not disgrace a drawing-room as fine as that at Aikenside. She had discovered, too, that Mrs. Agnes was opposed to her coming, that only Guy’s determined will had brought her there; and this, if nothing else, had disposed her to feel kindly toward the little governess. She had expected to see her rather pretty, but was not prepared to find her what she was. Maddy’s was a singular type of beauty—a beauty untarnished by any selfish, uncharitable, or suspicious feeling. Clear and truthful as a mirror, her brown eyes looked into Mrs. Noah’s, while her low courtesy—so full of deference, found its way straight to that motherly heart.
“I am glad to see you, Miss Clyde,” she said, “very glad.”
Maddy’s lip quivered a little and her voice shook as she replied:
“Please call me Maddy. They do at home, and I shan’t be quite so—so—”