The invitations to the Court were sent out first, to make sure of the most important guests, and down came the girls with notes of acceptance, and a hundred curious questions.
“Who is coming? What are you going to do? What dresses shall we wear? Can we help?” they asked eagerly; whereupon Mrs Thornton laughed, and replied hesitatingly—
“It is most incorrect; you ought to know nothing of the make-shifts, but just drive down to enjoy the completed effect; but, yes,—I cannot resist the pleasure of your company. Come, if you like, and I’ll promise you some real hard work.”
“That’s right; and you’ll find us so useful! We have been born and brought up on make-shifts, and can make anything out of nothing, and a box of tacks—can’t we, Ruth?” cried Mollie, in the brutally outspoken manner which always brought a flush into her sister’s face.
It was not so much foolish shame at the fact of poverty, but the stab of painful repugnance which came with the remembrance of the bareness and lack of beauty which characterised the old life. After a month’s sojourn at the Court the day of small things seemed far away, and she shrank at the possibility of returning to it as a permanency.
When Mrs Thornton began to enumerate her difficulties, and escorted the girls from one room to another to ask their advice upon various knotty points, it was like the probing of a wound to Ruth’s sensitive nerves. The house itself was roomy and well built, but in a hopeless state of disrepair. The paint was worn and dingy; the wallpapers so old-fashioned and discoloured that all Mrs Thornton’s painstaking efforts after cheerfulness and beauty were foiled by the inartistic background.
“I shed tears over the drawing-room paper when I was first married,” said Mrs Thornton, with a laugh and a shrug. “But, as one gets older, there are so many more serious things to cry over that one learns to be philosophical. I thought I might put some big, spreading branches in these old pots to cover the walls as much as possible, for we must have some rooms available in case of a shower. A wet day is too terrible a catastrophe to contemplate, so we won’t even imagine it. Given sunshine and unlimited borrowing, we can struggle through. Think of it, my dears—I have invited over a hundred people, and we possess twelve teaspoons!”
Mollie gurgled with laughter in her hearty, infectious manner.
“I’d give up sugar for the day, and do without. That’s one off the list. Shall we ask the butler to send down a supply? I’m sure he has hundreds stowed away in those great plate-chests.”
“My dear, no! I should not think of it!” cried Mrs Thornton, aghast. “I can manage quite well without troubling the squire. Pray don’t repeat any of my thoughtless remarks to him. My husband says that my tongue runs away with me far too often.”