Meantime the bonnet and cape in the carriage stepped somewhat into the background, and the girl who wore them allowed herself once more to think of her individuality, and to wonder at her position. She sat bolt upright on the edge of the soft, gray seat, and gazed about her as well as she could by the glimmer of the street lamps. She in a carriage! Mart Colson sitting on a back seat, beside a grand lady, and rolling down the avenue! Who would have supposed that such a thing could have happened to Sallie Calkins' bonnet? Mrs. Roberts recognized the bonnet and cape with a smile of satisfaction. She had studied much over the possibilities of this girl's costume. Was it probable that she had anything suitable to wear to a lecture? She had passed the cellar where the girl lived but once, and had had but one glimpse of her; yet these glimpses had been enough to render it highly improbable that she had any street costume. Then, had Mrs. Roberts canvassed the possibilities of getting a street-suit for her, there were apparently insurmountable difficulties in the way. She was too utterly unacquainted with the ground to venture. Besides, there were reasons for believing that anything of value would find its way from that cellar to a pawnbroker's in a very short space of time.
Having spent hours over many different schemes, and rejected each one as liable to bring disaster, Mrs. Roberts was obliged to betake herself to prayer. If the watching Saviour wanted her to work through the medium of this lecture on this particular child of His, He could certainly see that she was present; could furnish her with clothes to wear, either through herself or some other of His servants. She would wait and watch.
Not once had she thought of Sallie Calkins and the new bonnet that her own fingers had helped to fashion; yet here it was beside her on the head of this girl, toward whom she was drawn! The fact made Mrs. Roberts radiant.
She said almost nothing to the startled prisoner at her side, beyond a murmured, “So glad you let me carry you home with me!” Then she drew a bright-colored wrap about her, and left her to her amazement, while the eager tongues of the rest of the party talked continuously.
By the way, you are not acquainted with the pink room, I think? You should see it before it is invaded for the night. Large, it is. I think little people sometimes have a peculiar fondness for large rooms; Mrs. Roberts had. The walls were tinted with what might be called a suggestion of pink, with just a touch of sunset gold about the mouldings.
The carpet was soft and rich; it gave back no sound of footfall. It was strewn with pink buds; some just opening into beauty, some half-blown. Accustomed to the sight of elegant carpets as you are, you would almost have stooped to pick one of these buds, they looked so real. The curtains to the windows were white, but lined with rose pink; they were looped back with knots of pink ribbons. The bed was a marvel of pink and white drapery; so was the dressing-bureau. The easy-chairs were upholstered in soft grays with a pinkish tinge; and the tidies, lavishly displayed, were all of pink and white. There was nothing conventional about the room. A professional would have been shocked by some of its appointments. Many a lady of wealth, accustomed to having things as “they” decree, would have been more than doubtful over the pink ribbons and the profusion of white drapery. Aside from the carpet, and a choice picture or two, there was nothing especially expensive about the furnishings. It was simply a room in which Mrs. Roberts had allowed her own sweet little fancies to take her captive.
The gas was lighted; the door was ajar into a toilet-room; a lavish display of great, beautiful towels could be seen as you peeped in, and various touches told of an expected guest. Flowers were blossoming on the mantel, and a tiny vase which stood on a bracket near the toilet-stand held a single rose of a peculiar hue and perfume, which had blossomed for this hour. At least, Mrs. Roberts thought so.
Into this room, in all its purity and beauty, went Sallie Calkins' bonnet and cape and her strong, new, thick shoes; and the wearer thereof pushed the bonnet away from her flushed face, and stood and looked about her.
Down stairs they discussed in curious tones—not her, but the mistress of the mansion.
“Flossy, I do think you are too queer for anything! Why don't you have her go to Katy's room? Katy is away for the night, you know, and I'm sure her room is as neat and pretty as can be. Imagine what a contrast it would be to anything that she has ever seen! Mr. Ried, you ought to see the room into which she has been put. There isn't a more elegant one in the house. Some of its furnishings are so delicate that I hardly like to touch them. What sort of a disease is it that has taken Mrs. Roberts, do you suppose, to send her there? Flossy, she will get no rest to-night; she will be afraid of that immaculate bed.”'