Mamma stooped to kiss me as she passed my chair. “I trust you will never have to do any uncongenial work, my darling,” she said. “You shall not if I can help it.”
I remained where I was for a minute or two, thinking what I would best like to do that morning. It was a holiday, for my daily governess had got a slight cold and sore throat, and till quite satisfied that it was nothing infectious mamma had decided that she had better not come. I was rather sorry than otherwise, for I by no means disliked my lessons, and in dull weather the time was apt to hang heavily. There was no question of my going out for a ride, for, though not actually raining, it looked as if it might do so any moment.
“I may as well do the flowers in the drawing-room,” I said to myself. This was one of the few things I did regularly for mamma, and I am afraid its being regularly done was greatly owing to my liking it! I sauntered into the conservatory, glancing round to see what flowers I could cut without spoiling the appearance there; then through the conservatory, I sauntered on into the drawing-room. The housemaid, a young girl, whom I was not at all in awe of, was giving the room its morning cleaning. It was nearly done, but there remained the last touches—the laying down the hearthrug and removing one or two dust-sheets, and replacing some of the ornaments lying about—without which, however clean a room really is, it looks, of course, messy and disorderly.
“Oh, Eliza, why isn’t the drawing-room done?” I exclaimed. “I want to arrange the flowers, and I can’t have you fussing about while I am doing them. You must leave it for a quarter of an hour.”
The girl looked round regretfully.
“I’d have done in five minutes, Miss Connie,” she said; “I would indeed. I’m no later than usual, but you don’t often come in here so early; and the fire isn’t lighted, and you with your cold,” she added, as if that would decide matters.
“Oh, bother my cold,” I said. “It’s not chilly in here with the door open into the conservatory. I must do the Bowers now, or I can’t do them at all, and those in the glasses are very withered.”
Eliza gave in. But as she was turning away, leaving her dustpan and brushes behind her, she stopped short again.
“Oh, Miss Connie!” she exclaimed, “your frock’s all out of the gathers at the left side; and there’s a hole in your elbow.”