No further reference was made to the unpleasant scene in the library. Lady Sarah seemed disposed neither to offer nor to demand any sort of apology. Unnoticed by the girl, however, she constantly scrutinised her through her gold eye-glasses with a curiosity which was almost kindly. It seemed an impossibility for the old lady to refrain from interfering in the affairs of others, but for the next few days Mildred was allowed to go her own way undisturbed, while she devoted her attention to the daughters of the house.
She assured Mrs Faucit that Lois’s right shoulder was higher than the left, and insisted that she should be made to lie down for two hours every afternoon; she gave it as her opinion that, as the girls were now fifteen, they should not be allowed to go about unattended by a chaperone; and last, and worst of all, she showed the Dean a prospectus of a German school, to which she advised they should be sent at once.
The twins were in despair, and many were the indignation meetings which were held in the school-room or the bedrooms overhead, while poor Mrs Faucit exhausted herself in the effort to smooth down both parties and to keep her husband in ignorance of what was passing before his very eyes. Meantime the date of the picnic drew nearer and nearer, and in connection with her own preparations Mildred met with an unexpected display of kindness on the part of no less a person than Cécile herself.
The blue dress returned from the laundress looking crisper and fresher than ever in its newly-ironed folds, and when Mildred went up to her room the same afternoon she beheld Cécile seated by the dressing-table busily engaged in sewing the lace-frills round neck and sleeves.
“Why, Cécile—you!” she exclaimed, and the Frenchwoman raised her shoulders with a shrug of protest.
“Ah, Mademoiselle, what would you have? They are so careless, these servants. Mary would iron the lace as it was, sewn in the dress, but I say, ‘No, it is impossible so to do it well. You take it off,’ I say, ‘and I shall sew it on. Mademoiselle Mildred shall not go to the picnic with frills untidy while I am in the house.’”
“But that is very kind of you, Cécile. I’m sure I am awfully obliged,” said Mildred warmly. She leant up against the corner of the dressing-table and watched the play of the nimble fingers with admiring eyes. “How quickly you do it, and how well! It would take me about a month to pleat the lace into those teeny little folds. I just run it up and draw the string, but of course it is far nicer this way. The old dress looks quite new again. It seems to enjoy being washed.”
Cécile held the skirt at arm’s-length, looking at it with critical eyes.
“It is a pretty colour—soft and full—just the right shade to suit Mademoiselle’s complexion. When it has the sash and the lace collar it will have an air quite chic, but it could still be improved. If Mademoiselle will, I shall stiffen the sleeves and make them more—what you say?—fashionable! It would be much better so.”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. It would be very nice, but have you time, Cécile?” asked Mildred doubtfully. “You have work to do for Lady Sarah, and I should not like to interfere with that. It is very kind of you to offer, but—”