"I feel lost already, and—and ever so little afraid. How big and grand it looks. Don't desert me, Charley. I feel as though I were astray in a strange land."
He squeezes the little hand, he whispers something reassuring, and life and color come back to her face.
"Make your mind easy, Dithy," is what he says. "Like Mrs. Micawber,
'I'll never desert you.'"
He rings the door bell sharply, a smart-looking young woman admits them, and Edith goes with him into a splendid and spacious apartment, where three people sit at breakfast. Perhaps it is the garish sunshine, sparkling on so much cut glass and silver, that dazzles Edith's eyes, but for a minute she can see nothing. Then the mist clears away, the trio have risen—a pompous-looking old gentleman in a shining bald head and expansive white vest, a pallid, feeble-looking elderly lady in a lace cap, and a tall, stylish girl, with Charley's eyes and hair, in violet ribbons and white cashmere. The bald gentlemen shakes hands with her, and welcomes her in a husky baritone; the faded, elderly lady, and stylish young lady kiss her, and say some very pleasant and gracious words. As in a dream Edith sees and hears all—as in a dream she is led off by Beatrix.
"I shall take you to your room myself. I only hope you may like it. The furniture and arrangement are my taste, every bit. Oh you dear darling!" cries Miss Stuart, stopping in the passage to give Edith a hug. "You don't know how frightened I've been that you wouldn't come. I'm in love with you already! And what a heroine you are—a real Grace—what's-her-name—saving Charley's life and all that. And best of all, you're in time for the ball—which is a rhyme, though I didn't mean it." She laughs and suddenly gives Edith another hug. "You pretty creature!" she says; "I'd no idea you were half so good-looking. I asked Charley, but you might as well ask a lamp-post as Charley. Here is your room—how do you like it?"
She would have been difficult to please indeed, if she had not liked it. To Edith's inexperienced eyes, it is a glowing nest of amber silk curtains, yellowish Brussells carpet, tinted walls, pretty pictures, gilt frames, mirrors, ornaments, and dainty French bed.
"Do you like it? But I see by your face you do. I'm so glad. This is my room adjoining, and here's your bath. Now lay off your things and come down to breakfast."
Still in a dream Edith obeys. She descends to breakfast in her gray travelling suit, looking pale, and not at all brilliant. Miss Stuart, who has had her doubts, that this country cousin may prove a rival, is reassured. She takes her breakfast, and then Beatrix conducts her over the house—a wonder of splendor, of velvet carpets, magnificent upholstering, lace drapings, gilding and ormolu. But her face keeps its pale, grave look. Trixy wonders if she is not a stupid little body after all. Last of all they reach the sacred privacy of Trixy's own room, and there she displays her ball dress. She expiates on its make and its merits, in professional language, and with a volubility that makes Edith's head swim.
"It is made with a court train, trimmed with a deep flounce, waved in the lower edge, and this flounce is trimmed with four narrow flounces, edged with narrow point lace. The sides are en revers, with sashes tied in butterfly bow in the centre of the back, below the puffing of the skirt near the waist. The front of the skirt is trimmed to correspond with the train, the short apron, flounced and trimmed with point lace, gathered up at the sides, under the revers on the train. The waist is high in the shoulders, V shaped in front and back, with small flowing sleeves, finished with plaitings of white silk tulle. And now," cries Trixy, breathless and triumphant, "if that doesn't fetch the baronet, you may tell me what will! The pearls are superb—here they are. Pearls are en regle for weddings only, but how was poor pa to know that? Arn't they lovely?"
They lie in their cloudy luster, necklet, earrings, bracelet.