Jane surveyed me through her tear-dimmed eyes, screwing up her lips in a way she had.
“Well, miss, there’s ready and there’s ready. If I was going out to dine with five gentlemen, I shouldn’t think that I was nearly ready; not by a good deal, I shouldn’t. To me, considering, it don’t seem as if you had hardly got anything on.”
There came some more hammering at the door; apparently those gentlemen were impatient.
“It’s no good talking like that now. You must go down and let them in. I shall have to manage.”
Jane’s manner was a mixture of resignation and acidity.
“Very well, miss; as you please, miss. I’m sure I’ve done my best; I couldn’t do no more.”
I felt convinced of it as she retired. Indeed, I had rather she had done less. Scarcely had she disappeared than Audrey entered. I stared, expecting that she was going to favour me with a few candid criticisms. But no one could have been nicer.
“Well, child”—considering our relative sizes, the way in which they will persist in calling me child, is grotesque—“are you dressed for the great occasion? So Jane has been giving you the benefit of her assistance.”
There was a smile on her face which made me feel for Jane.
“It’s very good of her. She doesn’t seem to have much idea. She doesn’t pretend to be a lady’s maid; but she’s done her best.”