“To-morrow?” repeated Mrs Waldron, a little surprised. “To-morrow is Friday. Isn’t Monday a better day to begin it?”
Again Charlotte reddened a little.
“Mamma,” she said, “it’s just that I don’t want to begin it on Monday. That girl is coming on Monday for the first time—Lady Mildred’s niece, you know. And you don’t know how I should hate them saying I had got a new dress because of her coming.”
“Would they really be so ill-bred?” exclaimed Mrs Waldron, almost startled.
“Oh, yes. They don’t mean it, they don’t know better. Mamma, I don’t think you can know quite as well as I do how common some of the people here are,” and Charlotte’s face took an expression almost of disgust. “When you see the ladies you call on, they are on their good behaviour, I suppose, and if they did begin to gossip you would somehow manage to discourage it. Oh, mamma, you should be glad you weren’t brought up here.”
Mrs Waldron was half distressed and half amused.
“But we must make the best of it,” she said. “We can’t leave Wortherham, Charlotte.”
“Couldn’t we go and live quite in the country, however quiet and dull it was? I wouldn’t mind.”
“No; for several years at least it would be impossible. There may be opportunities for starting the boys in life here that we must not neglect. And living quite in the country would entail more fatigue for your father.” Charlotte sighed.
“My dear child,” said her mother, “I don’t quite understand you. You have never seemed discontented with your home before. You must not get to take such a gloomy view of things.”