“And, Grace, did you ever see any one so improved as Mattie? Her visit to Hadleigh is doing wonders for her. Last evening I could hardly help looking at her. She holds herself so much better, and her dresses are so pretty and well made. I never knew before that her figure was so nice.”
“Yes, indeed; she is wonderfully improved,” returned Grace.
But she said the words mechanically. Her mother’s speech had touched a sore place in her memory. She knew who had transformed Mattie’s dowdiness into comeliness and neatness. She might be an ordinary little woman in the world’s opinion, but in the eyes of her family she was quite another Mattie. Those tasteful dresses had been made by those Challoners of whom Mattie spoke so much and Archie so little.
Mrs. Drummond, who had not noticed her daughter’s sudden abstraction, went on in the same satisfied tone:
“She is not pretty, of course,—no one could ever call Mattie that at the best of times,—but now she has left off making a fright of herself, and hunching her shoulders with every word, she is quite passable-looking. I am glad you talked her out of being a bridesmaid. She would have looked absurd among the girls. But that green surah just suited her. It was good of Archie to buy her such a pretty dress; and yours that came from Hadleigh was even prettier, and wonderfully well made, considering they had only a pattern gown.”
“Yes; it fitted admirably;” but Grace spoke without enthusiasm.
Archie, who knew her tastes, had chosen a soft, creamy stuff which he informed Mattie must be trimmed with no end of lace. Phillis had received and executed the order with such skill and discernment that a most ravishing costume had been produced. But Grace, who had her own ideas on the subject of those “Challoner girls,” had received the gift somewhat coldly, and had even seemed displeased when her father pinched her ear and told her that Archie’s gown had transformed her into a princess fit for a fairy-tale. “And there is always a prince in 271 that, my dear,—eh, Gracie?” continued the lucky father, who could afford to laugh when one of the seven daughters had got a husband. But Grace would have nothing to do with the jest. She even got up a little frown, like her mother’s on similar occasions.
“Archie is so generous, dear old fellow!” continued Mrs. Drummond, breaking out afresh after a minute’s interval, as she skilfully manipulated the veil. “That is what I always say. There never was such a son or brother. Do you think he is overworking, Grace, or that Mattie really looks after him well? But he strikes me as a little thin,—and—yes—perhaps a little grave.”
Grace’s lips closed with an expression of pain. But her mother was looking at her and she must answer.
“Well, if you ask me, mother,” she returned, a little huskily, “I do not think Archie looks very well, or in his usual spirits; but I am sure Mattie takes good care of him,” she continued, with careful veracity.