“Of course I can,” said Reinette. “I always speak it with papa, who wishes me to know it as well as French. Mamma was English, and died at Rome when I was born, and I go to an English school, and when papa is away, as he is a great deal, I board at the school, and have such fun, because they don’t dare touch me, papa is so rich.”
“Oh, if I could only speak English! Mother wishes me to learn it, and says I shall by and by, when she can afford it. She speaks it a little,” Margery said; and, after a moment, Reinette replied:
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. Papa has more money than he knows what to do with, and I mean to tease him till he gives me some for you, and you shall go to that school with me.”
“Oh, I shall be so glad, and I’ll tell mother to-night!” Margery exclaimed, feeling unbounded faith in Reinette’s ability to accomplish anything.
Nor was her faith at all shaken when, a few minutes later Reinette’s smart maid Celine came up the stairs after her little mistress, who horrified her with the announcement that she meant to take her new friend for a drive in the Champs d’Elysees.
“I shall; I will,” she said, as Celine protested against it. “I like her, and she’s never been in a carriage in her life, and she stays here all day with the cat, and washes the dishes, and she’s going to ride with me, and I’ll spit and bite, if you don’t let her.”
Celine knew better than to oppose the imperious child when in this mood, and besides, there was something very winning and attractive in the bright-haired, blue-eyed little girl, whose dress, though plain, was becoming and faultlessly clean. She certainly was no ordinary child, and that beautiful face would not disgrace the carriage. So Celine consented, and with joy beaming in every feature Margery brought out her plaid cloak and hood, which presented so striking a contrast to the rich scarlet one of Reinette that she drew back at once, and with quivering lip said to Celine:
“I must not go. I am so shabby beside her. She would be ashamed, and that I could not bear. Oh I wish I was she and she me, just for once—wish I could wear a scarlet cloak and see how it seemed.”
“You shall!” Reinette cried, with great tears in her eyes. “You shall know how it seems. We’ll make believe you are papa’s little girl, and I am Margery,” and before Celine could divine her intention, she was removing her dainty scarlet cloak and hood, and putting them on Margery, who was too much astonished to resist, but stood perfectly still, while Reinette wrapped the ermine, and satin, and merino around her, and put the plaid cloak and hood upon herself. “Oh, how lovely you are,” she said, gazing admiringly at Margery, “and how ugly I am in this plaid. Nobody will know but what you are really Queenie Hetherton, and I am Margery,” and she dragged the child down the stairs, and out into the street, where at a corner the Hetherton carriage was waiting.
Reinette gave Margery the seat of honor, and then sat down beside her, looking somewhat like a dowdy bit of humanity in the plain plaid cloak, with the large hood hiding her face. But she enjoyed it immensely, playing that she was Margery, and bade the coachman drive straight to the Champs d’Elysees.