Helen was twisting a corner of the linen nervously in her fingers.
“I think I could get some one to do it for you, Lilias, if you could trust me,” she said.
“And you’re just the best to ken, Miss Buchanan,” said Mrs Mense, “for ye see Miss Lillie has nae friend to speak o’ but yoursel’, and it’s no like she could ken wha sewed weel, and wha didna; but I’m just as blythe as I can be, Miss Lillie, to see you wi’ your light gown and your smile again, and so is Mossgray; and now I’ll gang my ways, and see that Jen’s minding the breakfast.”
“Lilias,” said Helen, when the old woman was out of hearing, “I don’t need to have any foolish pride with you. I will make these things for you if you will take me for your sempstress.”
“You, Helen,” said Lilias, “you don’t need—you don’t wish—I mean—”
“I mean that we have never been rich, Lilias,” said Helen, with her shifting blush, “and that now there is occasion for a little more work than usual—that is all; and you need not look so grave, unless you think I shall not make these new-fashioned things well enough to please Mrs Mense; but I am not afraid, Lilias—I think you may trust me.”
“But, Helen, you have too much to do already; you cannot work always,” said Lilias. “Let me speak to Mossgray—let me—”
“Hush, hush,” said Helen, “you forget that we have some pride still. I have not too much to do, Lilias; people seldom have, I think, and it is no great matter when one can get through one’s troubles by a little additional labour. It is no hardship; this is my kind of fighting, you know, and I can do it very well. I think you will give me your work, Lilias, and a great deal of praise when it is done. I shall please Mrs Mense. I will invent frills. I think you must trust me.”
It was a slight trial to the sensitive, proud Helen; her cheek was flushed a little, and the smile trembled on her lip, but she talked the uncomfortable feeling away, and got it over, with less pain than she could have thought. The great web of linen was committed to her hands, and while Lilias entered into her revival of happy life, calm, peaceful, and at rest, Helen went away home to the little, quiet, dull house, and to her labour, the long, hard toil to which her heart rose, as to the strenuous oar which might keep the little ship afloat.
The autumn days flushed to their brightest and began to wane. It was a gay autumn to the Fendies, and to the other youthful people of the neighbourhood through them; Halbert Graeme had quite forgiven Menie Monikie. The saucy Menie sent him cards and gloves when she became Mrs Keith, and a barbarous lump of bride-cake; but the gift, cruel as it was, did by no means disturb the equanimity of Halbert. The broken gold coin lay snug in a corner of his dressing-case; he laughed merrily to himself sometimes when his eye fell upon it, and thought with a great deal of good-humour, and scarcely any pique, how simple and foolish the boy and girl were who broke that coin in the pleasant twilight of the Aberdeenshire glen. Halbert had got over his first romance very comfortably; the youthful epidemic fell lightly on the heir of Mossgray.