“My dear, how can you? Don’t say that to Mademoiselle, I implore you! She would have a fit. We are all commoners, and English commoners at that, and the lady who gave her that precious bottle was Madame la Marquise de Something or Other, the mother of her beloved pupil Isoult Andrée Adèle Marie Thérèse—the most perfect, and beautiful, and clever, and amiable jeune fille that was ever created!” Kate paused, hitched one shoulder to her ear, spread out her hands, and elevated her eyebrows in ridiculous mimicry of Mademoiselle’s mannerisms. “Did she evare neglect her work? Jamais, nevare! Did she evare forget that she was a jeune fille, and be’ave like a vild, rough boy? Jamais, jamais! Was she evare like these Engleesh—rude, impairtinent, disobedient? Mais non! Always the same—cette ange, the most wise, the most amiable! And when she has finished her education and made her débût, to be the most beautiful and admired wherever she has gone, she has vept—vept, I tell you, to say adieu to her beloved Mademoiselle! And she has given her a chain for her neck, and Madame la Marquise that beautiful ’ansome botelle. Really, Pixie, you are behind the times if you don’t know about Isoult. Just turn Mademoiselle on to her next time you are with her on the walk, and you won’t have to exert yourself any more. She will sing her praises until you come in.”
“I will,” said Pixie sturdily. “And I’ll see that bottle, too. I must see that bottle. I’ll go into Mademoiselle’s room next time I have a chance, and have a good look at it all to myself!”
The girls smiled, but took little note of a determination which seemed natural enough under the circumstances. A week afterwards they remembered it with very different feelings, and Pixie’s own words were brought up in judgment against her.
Chapter Eight.
Pixie in Trouble.
It was already dark when the crocodile passed in at the gates of Holly House on its return from the expedition to town, and Miss Phipps gave instructions that the girls were to go straight to their rooms to dress for the evening. Full dress was the rule for the evenings of term-holiday, for even if nothing particular was going on, and no extra guests expected, it gave one a gala feeling to don a light frock, and gaze down upon one’s very best shoes and stockings. Before leaving for town in the morning, visits had been paid to the box-room to take the rarely-used splendours from their wrappings, and now they lay stretched out in all their glory on the narrow beds, white, blue, and pink, a very wealth of colour and luxury.
Pixie O’Shaughnessy, having no adornment to do for herself, acted as lady’s-maid to her bedroom, with much satisfaction to her mistresses, and credit to herself. She brushed Kate’s hair until it was so smooth and flat as to be almost invisible from a front view; she tied Ethel’s sash, and the ribbon to match which confined the ends of her curls; and she fastened Flora’s dress, which was a matter of difficulty and time, for though it was let out regularly each holiday-time, it invariably grew too tight before it was needed again.
“I can’t help it,” the poor thing protested miserably. “I don’t eat half as much as Ethel, and she’s as thin as a stick. It’s my fate! I was born fat, and I go on growing fatter and fatter all the time. I shall be a fat woman in a show, before I am done with it. It’s hard lines, for I should so love to be slim and willowy. That’s what the heroines are in books, and it makes me quite ill every time I read it. Nothing exciting ever happens to fat people! The thin ones get all the fun and excitement, and marry the nice man, while the poor fatty stays at home, and waits upon her hand and foot. Then she grows into an aunt, and takes charge of the nephews and nieces when they have fever or measles, or when the parents go abroad for a holiday. Everyone imposes upon her, just because she is fat!”