“We call that playing for love! It’s rather dull—in cards!”
Elma twirled her parasol, and blushed to the eyes.
Chapter Thirteen.
Mrs Ramsden sent up a box to the Manor that same afternoon, containing a dark linen dress, a blue blouse, and black skirt for evening wear; a supply of underclothing, a grey Shetland shawl, and a flannel dressing-gown. An hour later, conveyed by special messenger, came a second box, accompanied by a note in Cornelia’s handwriting. Elma was resting in her bedroom when it arrived. She opened it, and read as follows:—
“Dear Moss Rose,—I guess tight gowns are a bit worrying in hot weather, so I’ve gotten together a few waists and skirts that may aid your recovery, and send them along with my love, wishing you many happy returns of the day. If it isn’t the right day, it ought to be, anyway! I always calculated to be here for your birthday, and I’m about tired waiting. If you send them back, I’ll burn them, as sure as taxes, but I reckon you’re too sweet to hurt my feelings. Put on the one with the ruckings! It’s the duty of every woman to look her best in the eyes of—. What wonderful weather for the time of year!—Your friend, Cornelia.
“PS—There’s quite a gale blowing round this corner!...”
“It is sweet of her, but I mustn’t, I can’t, I really couldn’t!” was Elma’s comment as she flushed with surprise and embarrassment. It was quite certain that she could not accept the gift, but there was no harm in just looking to see what the box contained! She crossed the room, cut the string, and unfolded the brown papers which covered the cardboard box; lifted fold after fold of tissue papers, and gasped in admiration of each treasure as it was revealed.
The daintiest of white lawn morning blouses, with skirt to match; a skirt and bodice of cream net marvellously rucked with ribbons; a blue muslin, afoam with flounces. All were fresh from the maker’s hands, and, as Elma divined, had been selected from Cornelia’s storehouse of garments, with careful regard to her own requirements. The “waists” would fit easily enough; the skirts—she shook out the muslin and held it against her own dress. Just a trifle short, perhaps, but not sufficiently so to spoil the effect. It was a lovely skirt! Elma edged away from the glass with a little jerk of the figure calculated to send the flounces in a swirl round her feet. For three-and-twenty years she had gone through life wearing plain hems, and as Cornelia predicted, the flounces went to her brain. After all, would it not be ungracious to reject so kindly a gift? Her real birthday fell in the middle of July, and Cornelia, being rich and generous, would naturally offer a gift on the occasion. To keep the blue muslin would be only anticipating the remembrance.
Yes! she would keep it, and return the other dresses, explaining that she really could not accept so much. But on second thoughts Cornelia had specially desired her to wear the net with the ruckings. ... Elma dropped the muslin on the bed, lifted the net blouse carefully from its wrappings, and held it before her to view the effect. Had mortal hands fashioned it, or had it dropped down ready-made from a fairyland where good spirits gathered pieces of cloud and sea-foam, and blew them together for the benefit of happy girlhood! Elma looked at herself in the glass; looked back at the blue glacé silk and black surah on the bed, and thanked Heaven for Cornelia Briskett! Indeed and indeed she would wear the “rucked net to-night, and look her best in the eyes of...” And she would send back the white lawn, and say—What should she say? Perhaps, after all, it would seem rather queer to keep the two more elaborate gowns, and send back the simplest. It might appear as if she did not consider it worthy of acceptance. She would keep them all; wear them all; enjoy them all; and oh, dear, sweet, kind, and most understanding Cornelia, if ever, ever, the time arrived when the gift could be returned, with what a full heart should it be offered!