“If the child is old enough to have the responsibility of a household, she is old enough to have a little enjoyment, and to make her entrance into society. She is eighteen next May, she tells me, and she is old for her age. You must certainly take her to Lady Mary’s ‘At Home.’ There will be music, and recitations, and a crowd of people—just the sort of thing to please a young girl!”
Mr Bertrand shrugged his shoulders and affected to be horrified at the idea of having to take out a grown-up daughter. “It makes a man feel so old,” he said, “and I know quite well I shall forget all about her when I begin talking to my old friends! However, I’ll do my best. See that the child has something decent to wear, like a good soul. I’m not so short of money now as in the days when you used to send hampers to my rooms in Oxford, and I should like her to look well. She is not a beauty like Lettice, but she is a nice-looking little girl in her way, isn’t she, Helen?”
“Oh, I think we may give her credit for more than that. She has an exquisite complexion, and holds up her little head as if she were quite conscious of being the eldest child of a famous man. You won’t be ashamed of your daughter, I promise you.”
Hilary was delighted at the thought of accompanying her father to the “At Home,” but though she gushed over the prospect in her letters to her sisters, she did her utmost to hide her excitement from Miss Carr. The old lady had a habit of making sly little hits at her expense, the cause of which the girl totally misunderstood. She imagined that it was her youth and want of experience which annoyed her hostess, whereas, in reality, it was her affectation of age and worldly knowledge. When the night arrived, however, it was impossible to keep as calm as she would have liked, as she arrayed herself in her dainty new frock before dinner. Miss Carr’s choice had been eminently successful. A plain white satin dress with an overskirt of chiffon, which gave an effect of misty lightness, a wreath of snowdrops among the puffings at the neck, and long ends of ribbon hanging from the waist. Hilary looked very sweet and fresh as she walked into the drawing-room, with a flush of self-conscious pleasure on her cheeks, and her father gave a start of surprise as he saw her.
“So! My little girl!” Miss Carr was not yet in the room, and he took Hilary by the hands, holding her out at arm’s length, and looking down at her with grave, tender eyes. “It’s very nice, dear. I’m proud of you!” Then drawing her to him, and kissing her on the forehead, “We must be great friends, you and I, my big daughter. This is the beginning of a new life for you, but you will not grow to think less of the old home and the old friends?”
“No, no, father! no, never!” Hilary spoke in a quick, breathless whisper, and there was an unusual moisture in her eyes. Her father saw that she was nervous and excited, and hastened to change the subject before there was any danger of a breakdown. The door opened at this moment to admit Miss Carr, and he advanced to meet her holding Hilary’s hand in his, in the high, stately fashion in which a knight of old led out his partner in the gavotte.
“Miss Hilary Maud Everette Bertrand—at your service. And many thanks to the good fairy who has worked the transformation!”
“Humph!” said Mrs Carr, shortly. “Fine feathers make fine birds. There’s the gong for dinner, and if you two are not hungry, I am, so let us get the serious business over first, and then I’ll have a look at the fineries.” Then, after her usual fashion, she slipped her hand through the girl’s arm and led her affectionately across the hall. “Sweet seventeen! Ah, dear me, I wonder how many years ago it is since I went out in my first white dress? I was a pretty girl then, my dear, though you may not think it to look at me now, and I remember my excitement as if it were yesterday.”
When the carriage came to the door two hours later on, Hilary wrapped herself up in fleecy shawls and went into the drawing-room to bid her hostess good-night, but she was not allowed to take her departure so easily. Miss Carr protested that she was not wrapped up sufficiently, and sent upstairs for a hood and a pair of hideous scarlet worsted bedroom slippers, which she insisted upon drawing over the dainty white satin shoes. Hilary protested, but she was not allowed to have a say in the matter.
“Nonsense, my dear; it’s a bitterly cold night, and you have half an hour’s drive. We can’t have you catching cold, just to have your feet looking pretty in a dark carriage. Go along now, and ‘Good-night,’ for I shall be in bed when you come back. I’ll hear all your adventures in the morning,” and she waved the girl away in the imperious fashion which no one dare resist.