I was not sure that I relished her manner of expressing herself. And when I recalled the spectacle she had herself presented on certain occasions when I had witnessed her sallying forth on her Sundays out, I was inclined to be more than dubious as to her capacity to make the best of me. Yet she seemed, too, so anxious to be of service, and so convinced that I should find her assistance of the greatest value, that I had not the heart to send her packing.
Though I am nearly confident that I should have been wiser if I had.
CHAPTER XIII.
JANE
Jane’s remarks, as she turned my wardrobe over and over, commenting on it critically as she did so, made it almost as clear as possible that in accepting her assistance I had been guilty of an indiscretion. Considering the position in which she was supposed to stand towards me there was a frankness about her which I felt was unbecoming.
“Well, you haven’t got much to wear, and that’s a fact, look at it how you may; and what you have got I’ve seen you in till I should think you was sick of the sight; not that they amounted to anything, even when they was new.”
As I was about to point out, with some severity, that observations of that kind were not likely to assist me to any material extent, she branched off at a tangent.
“I was never out with five gentlemen all at once, not myself I wasn’t. The most I was ever out with was three; and as two of them started fighting before we’d gone very far you couldn’t hardly call that a success. They knocked each other about something cruel—at least, so I was given to understand. So far as I was concerned, I never so much as spoke to them again. Because I always have held, and always shall hold, that when two gentlemen start fighting about a lady out in the open street, right before her very eyes, as it were, they aren’t gentlemen—no, and never won’t be neither.”
Though open to admit that her sentiments might do her credit, I could not perceive their application to the subject in hand. As I was about to drop a hint to that effect, she returned, with a frankness which I again found slightly embarrassing, to the subject of clothes.
“Now, about underneath. I hold that’s it’s no good having a smart gown on if there’s nothing but rags inside. When a party lifts a scarlet satin skirt to show a torn petticoat, and, perhaps, an odd pair of stockings what’s all holes, she might fancy herself, but I never should. I say if it must be a torn petticoat, put it on outside, and the satin skirt underneath, it would be less deceiving. Now, miss, what was you thinking of wearing?”
Jane had not a delicate touch. She framed her inquiries with a directness which was a little appalling. I explained—to her satisfaction. She was even pleased to be enthusiastic.