Cornelia drew a long, fluttering sigh; a sigh of utter contentment, and laid her russet head on the folds of the stiff grey silk.
“Oh, Aunt Soph—ia! you are just as sweet!” she murmured beneath her breath.
Chapter Four.
Perfect health, radiant spirits, supreme self-confidence, a sweetly smiling determination to have her own way, and go her own course, though the skies fell, and all creation conspired to prevent her—these were the characteristics of Miss Cornelia Briskett most apparent on a superficial acquaintance. On the morning after her arrival, when Mary the housemaid carried the cup of early morning tea to her bedside, she found the young lady leaning back against the pillows, enveloped in a garment which suggested a garden party, rather than a night-gown, wide awake, and ready for conversation. Really a most affable young lady, who instead of vouchsafing a cool good-morning, launched out into quite a confidential talk, inquiring after the different members of Mary’s family, their names, ages, and occupations, and showing a most sympathetic interest in the girl’s own future.
“I guess you are going to be married pretty soon! You’ve got a marrying face!” she said shrewdly, whereupon Mary, blushing, acknowledged that she had a friend, and that he did speak of early next spring.
“Told you so!” cried Cornelia, dimpling. “Well, Mury, see here, you nip round and wait upon me the best you know, and I’ll give you an elegant present! I wear muslins most all the time in summer, and I can’t endoor to have them mussed. You keep carrying them away and ironing them out nice and smooth, without bothering me to tell you. See! I need lots of attention; there’s no getting away from that, but I’ll make it worth your while. You just put your mind to it, and I guess you’ll make a tip-top maid!”
Mary was at least prepared to perish in the attempt. She related the conversation downstairs, with the natural result that each of the other three maids registered a vow to be second to none in her attentions to the young visitor.
The breakfast-gong rang at eight o’clock, but it was a good ten minutes later before Cornelia came sauntering downstairs, singing an unknown ditty at the pitch of a sweet, if somewhat nasal voice. She was dressed in white of the most elaborate simplicity, and her shaded hair looked even more crisply conspicuous than on the night before. The last line of the song did not come to an end until she was half-way across the dining-room floor, and so far from being dismayed by her aunt’s stare of disapproval, she only laughed, waved her hands, and threw an extra flourish into the rallentando. Then she swooped down upon the stiff figure, hugged it affectionately, and planted three kisses on the cold, grey face; one on the lips, one on the brow, a third—deliberately—on the tip of the nose.