“You see I wish to get him out immediately, for I mean to make it just like a palace for Margery,” she said to her grandmother, who tried to restrain the reckless girl, telling her she was going on at a ruinous rate, and that, of herself she could not transact business, until she was of age.
“But Mr. Beresford can transact it for me, and I shall have it,” she said; and she took Mr. Beresford by storm and compelled him to make an arrangement whereby the cottage and her aunt’s business came into her possession. Then she wrote to her friend:
“You Dear Old Darling Margery:—I do know just how surprised and glad you were to hear that I was in America, for wasn’t I just as glad to know that you were near me when I thought you in Nice or Italy. Why didn’t you answer my letter, you naughty girl? I wrote you six and only had two in return. It is just like a story, isn’t it—our being together in America? And, Margie, my grandmother is not that English duchess I used to talk so much about, but a real, live Yankee woman, of the very Yankee-est kind, red, and fat, and good, and calls me Rennet, and wears purple gloves—or she did till I coaxed her into some black ones, which she thinks are not very dressy. And you will like her ever so much, and you are coming to Merrivale to live at once, now, right away. So, pack up your things as soon as you read this. I have bought that business for you of Mrs. Ferguson, who is my aunt, or rather the wife of my mother’s brother; and she has a daughter Anna, who is my cousin, and very stunning and swell. That last is slang, which I have learned in America of Phil, who is another cousin, and a Ferguson, too: or rather his mother was, which is the same thing. There are a great many Fergusons, you see; but then there are Fergusons and Fergusons. But you will learn all this when you come. I have a pretty little cottage engaged, with a bit of fresh greensward in front, and the loveliest old-fashioned garden at the side, with June pinks, and roses, and tiger-lilies, and a nice bed of tansy, I like tansy, don’t you? There was a patch of it at dear old Chateau des Fleurs. Then there are two front rooms for the work, and a sitting and dining-room back, with the kitchen, and three chambers communicating with each other. One of these I shall fit up with blue for you; it will just suit your lovely complexion and eyes; the other is scarlet, for your mother, who is dark; and the third—well, that is to be mine when I stay with you nights, as I intend doing often. But I can’t have the same color as your mother, so I shall take pink, which will make me look just like a—a—nigger. That’s another word I caught from Phil. I wish he would come back. Tell him so, please.
“And now, Margery, come as soon as you can. And don’t be silly about my buying the cottage and business for you. It is only a little bit of payment on the big sum I owe you for that sacrifice you were ready to make for me. How well I remember that day, and how plainly I can see you now, as you went up to the master, with your face as white as paper, and your eyes so pitiful and appealing as they looked at me, and yet so full of love. And I, the coward, shut my eyes, and clenched my fists, and said to myself just as fast as I could, ‘Nasty beast! nasty beast!’ till the first blow fell, which hurt me more than it did you, for it cut right into my conscience, and there has been a little smart there ever since, while your dear hand is just as white and fair as if that vile old man’s ferrule had never reddened and wounded it. Splendid old Margery! I want to hug you this minute!
“And—oh, Margie, don’t think I have forgotten papa, because I have not said more of him; for I haven’t, and there is a thought of him and a little moan in my heart for him all the time. No matter what I am doing, or how gay I seem, I never forget that he is dead, and that there is nobody to love me now but you, who seem so near to me, because you knew of the old life at home now gone forever. Answer at once, and say when I may expect you.”
To this letter Margery replied within a few days, thanking Queenie for her generous interest, but saying she could not accept so much from her; she should come to Merrivale with her mother as soon as they could arrange matters where they were, but she should insist upon paying rent for the cottage, and also upon paying for the business.
“I can do that in a short time,” she wrote, “if I have work, and I shall be happier to be independent even of you, my darling. Besides I do not think the Rossiters and Fergusons would like you to do so much for a stranger. I am nothing to them, you know, except their dressmaker—”
“I think her a very sensible girl. I could not respect her, if she were willing to receive so much from you,” Mr. Beresford said when Queenie read him Margery’s letter; whereupon Queenie flew into a passion, and said he did not understand—did not appreciate the nature of the friendship between herself and Margery; adding that she should never tell Margery how much she paid her Aunt Lydia, and that she would never take any rent and she should furnish the house herself.
And she did, and, with Phil to help her after he came, she accomplished more at the cottage and at Hetherton Place than any ten ordinary women could have accomplished in the same length of time. Every day she managed to spend two or three hours at the cottage, which, with plenty of money and perfect taste, was soon transformed into a little gem of a house. It is true there was nothing expensive in it in the way of furniture, except the upright Steinway, which Queenie insisted upon; but everything was so well chosen and so artistically arranged, that the whole effect was like a lovely picture, and the villagers went to see it, and wondered what this Margery could be that Miss Hetherton was doing so much for her.
“She is only a dressmaker, after all,” Miss Anna said, with a toss of her head, as she sat in what had been her mother’s work-room entertaining a visitor and discussing the expected Margery.