Chapter Thirteen.
The Treasure Hunt.
The invitations for the garden-party arrived in due course: one for Lady Hayes, another for Miss Darsie Garnett, and in the corner of each, beside the name of a celebrated military band, appeared the magic words “Treasure Hunt.” Darsie felt something of the proud interest of the author who beholds in print the maiden effort of his brain, as she gazed upon those words, and reflected that but for her own suggestion they would never have appeared. Lady Hayes also seemed to feel a reflected pride in her niece’s ingenuity, which pride showed itself in a most agreeable anxiety about the girl’s toilette for the occasion.
After a survey of the few simple dresses which composed Darsie’s wardrobe, it was pronounced that nothing was suitable for garden-party wear, and a dressmaker was summoned from the country town to take measurements for a dainty white dress and hat to match. The dress was made to reach right down to the ankles, in deference to Lady Hayes’s ideas of propriety, and Darsie felt prodigiously fine and grown-up as she peacocked about before the long glass of her bedroom wardrobe on the day of the garden-party itself. Never in her life before had she possessed a gown made by an expert dressmaker, and the result was surprisingly flattering. She expatiated on the same with a candour startling to the audience of aunt and her maid.
“Don’t I look s–weet? So slim! I’d no idea I was such a nice shape. I don’t know which looks nicest, the frock on me or me in the frock! Aren’t I tall? Isn’t it graceful when I stand like this, and show the pleats? The hat’s a duck! I must say I do look most scrumptiously nice!”
“My dear!” Lady Hayes looked both shocked and alarmed. “My dear, how can you? I shall begin to regret my purchases if they encourage a spirit of vanity. I was always taught to allow others to praise me and to keep silent myself.”
“But you thought all the time, Aunt Maria, you couldn’t help thinking, and it’s worse to bottle it up. I’m always quite candid on the subject of my appearance,” returned Darsie calmly. “On principle! Why should you speak the truth on every other subject, and humbug about that? When I’ve a plain fit I know it, and grovel accordingly, and when I’m nice I’m as pleased as Punch. I am nice to-day, thanks to you and Mason, and if other people admire me, why shouldn’t I admire myself? I like to admire myself! It’s like the cocoa advertisements, ‘grateful and comforting.’ Honest Ingin, Aunt Maria! Didn’t you admire yourself when you saw yourself in the glass in that ducky grey bonnet?”
Evidently the question hit home, for Lady Hayes made a swift change of front.
“My dear, my dear, moderate your language! Your expressions are unsuitable for a young gentlewoman. You are growing up. Try, I beg, to cultivate a more ladylike demeanour!”