“I wish you would think a little more of my position, and take greater pains with your appearance,” returned her brother, in an annoyed voice. “What would Grace say to see what a fright you make of yourself? It is a sin and a shame for a woman to be untidy or careless in her dress; it is unfeminine! it is unlady-like!” hurling each separate epithet at her.
Perhaps Miss Drummond was used to these compliments, for she merely pinned her braid without seeming the least put out.
“I think I am a little shabby,” she remarked, tranquilly, as they at last walked on. “Perhaps Mrs. Langley had better make me a dress too,” with a laugh, for, in spite of her sharp voice, she was an even-tempered little body; but this last remark only added fuel to his wrath.
“You really have less sense than a child. The idea of recommending a person like Mrs. Langley to those young ladies,—a woman who works for Miss Masham!”
“They were very plainly dressed, Archie,” returned poor Mattie, who felt this last snub acutely; for, if there was one thing upon which she prided herself, it was her good sense. “They had dark print dresses,—not as good as the one I have on,—and nothing could be quieter.”
“Oh, you absurd little goose!” exclaimed her brother, and he burst into a laugh, for the drollery of the comparison restored him to instant good humor. “If you cannot see the difference between that frumpish gown of yours, with its little bobtails and fringes, and those pretty dresses before us, I must say you are as blind as a bat, Mattie.”
“Oh, never mind my gown,” returned Mattie, with a sigh.
She had had these home-thrusts to meet and parry nearly every day, ever since she had come to keep house for this fastidious brother. She was a very active, bustling little person, who had done a great deal of tough work in her day, but she never could be made to see that unless a woman add the graces of life to the cardinal virtues she is, comparatively speaking, a failure in the eyes of the other sex. 76
So, though Mattie was a frugal housekeeper, and worked from morning to night in his service,—the veriest little drudge that was ever seen,—she was a perpetual eyesore to her brother, who loved feminine grace and repose,—whose tastes were fastidious and somewhat arbitrary. And so it was poor Mattie had more censure than praise, and wrote home piteous letters complaining that nothing she did seemed to satisfy Archie, and that her mother had made a great mistake in sending her, and not Grace, to preside over his bachelor establishment.
“Oh, Phillis, how shall we have courage to publish our plan?” exclaimed Nan, when they were at last discussing the much-needed tea and chops in the little parlor at Beach House.