“Well, no, Phillis; I was not quite so impertinent, and clever speeches of that sort never occur to me until you say them. But I told Miss Drummond that I could not consent to spoil her lovely dress in that way; and then she laughed and gave in, and owned she knew nothing about fashions, and that her sister Grace always ordered her clothes for her, because she chose such ugly things. She sat and chatted such a long time with us; she had only just gone when you came home.”
“And she told us such a lot about this wonderful Grace,” went on Dulce: “she says Archie quite worships her.—Well, mammie,” as Mrs. Challoner poised her needle in mid-air and regarded her youngest daughter with unfeigned astonishment, “I am only repeating Miss Drummond’s words; she said ‘Archie.’”
“But, my dear, there was no need to be so literal,” returned Mrs. Challoner, reprovingly; for she was a gentlewoman of the old school, and nothing grieved her more than slipshod English or any idiom or idiotcy of modern parlance in the mouths of her bright young daughters: to speak of any young man except Dick without the ceremonious prefix was a heinous misdemeanor in her eyes. Dulce would occasionally trespass, and was always rebuked with much gravity. “You could have said ‘her brother,’ could you not?”
“Oh, mammie, I am sure Providence intended you for an old maid, and you have not fulfilled your destiny,” retorted Dulce, who was rarely awed by her mother’s solemnity. “All that 171 fuss because I said ‘Archie!’ Oh, I forgot, that name is sacred: the Rev. Archibald Drummond adores his sister Grace.”
“And she must be very nice,” returned Mrs. Challoner with an indulgent smile at her pet Dulce. “I am sure, from what Miss Drummond told us this morning, that she must be a most superior person. Why, Phillis, she teaches all her four younger sisters, and one of them is sixteen. Miss Drummond says she is never out of the school-room, except for an hour or two in the evening, when her father and brothers come home. There are two more brothers, I think she said. Dear what a large family! and Miss Drummond hinted that they were not well off.”
“I should like to know that Grace,” began Phillis; and then she shook her head reflectively. “No, depend upon it, we should be disappointed in her: family paragons are generally odious to other folk. Most likely she wears spectacles, and is a thin thread-papery sort of person.”
“On the contrary, she is a sweet-looking girl, with large melancholy eyes; for Miss Drummond showed us her photograph. So much for your imagination, Phil?” and Dulce looked triumphant. “And she is only twenty-two, and, though not pretty, just the sort of face one could love.”
“Some people’s swans turn out to be geese in the end,” remarked Phillis, provokingly; but she registered at the same time a mental resolve that she would cross-examine Mr. Drummond on the earliest opportunity about this wonderful sister of his. Oh, it was no marvel if he did look down on them when they had not got brains enough to earn their living except in this way! and Phillis stuck her needle into Miss Milner’s body-lining so viciously that it broke.
The sharp click roused Nan’s vigilance, and she looked up, and was at once full of pity for Phillis’s pale face.
“You are tired, Phil, and so are we all,” she said, brightly; “and, as it is our first day of work, we will not overdo ourselves. Mammie, if you will make the tea, we will just tidy up, and look out the patterns for you to match the trimmings and buttons to-morrow;” for this same business of matching was rather hailed by Mrs. Challoner as a relief and amusement.