It was fortunate for Margaretta that she brought with her a good stock of clothes, and that the materials were admirably chosen both as to colours and quality—soft, beautiful, girlish, and not likely to become conspicuous, owing to the changes of fashion. Each garment had been carefully planned so as to permit of enlargement, and a length of new material was folded with it for future renovation.
Lady Longridge grunted indignantly as she caused Thorley to pass Margaretta's wardrobe in review before her. It was in one sense satisfactory to find that no expenditure of money would be needed for a long time.
"I should have bought nothing new in any case," snapped out the old lady. "There are coloured gowns enough of mine laid away that would have done for the girl, and they will come in when these are worn out. Take all this frippery away," and she waved off Thorley and the garments with an impatient gesture.
The maid retired, murmuring a thanksgiving that her darling Miss Margaretta would be preserved from the ancient horrors laid up by her mistress, professedly for future wear, but never likely to be needed.
"A lady's maid," muttered Thorley, "is supposed to get good pickings out of her mistress's clothes, but I never had any that were worth selling, much less wearing. However, it is some comfort to think that, while she goes on hoarding her rubbish, I never feel to covet any of and one may be thankful not to be tempted. As to Miss Margaretta, Nelly Corry will keep her right for a couple of years, let her grow as fast as she likes."
Nelly Corry's aid was soon needed, and in her joy at the sight of a young face, Margaretta, albeit an unskilful seamstress, determined to help her in her work.
"I can unpick the seams, if I cannot put them together," she said, and this she did with her grandmother's approval, qualified, however, by the remark that it would be a change to see her occupied in anything but mischief. Nelly was a good, pure-minded little creature, the staff of her widowed mother, and the child of careful training and many prayers. No fear that from her Margaretta would receive harm, or that the dingy nursery, now used as a workroom, would be the scene of gossip or idle tattle. The baronet's child and the seamstress a few years older were just a couple of innocent-minded girls, very happy only to be together, because they were young, and each had no friend of like age under the roof she called home.
Nelly's home was a real one, and the girl was eloquent always about her mother's goodness and the wealth of loving care she bestowed on the only child left her there. The rest were married and gone out into the world. Only the one ewe lamb was left.
How different with Margaretta! She could only say that she wished she could ever please her grandmother, who did not, and she thought never would, love her. That she longed for the mother from whom she was parted, and was sure that if only she could be with her and Mr. Norland, he would love her too. For she had known him when she was a little thing, and he was—oh, so nice always!
"I want the days to go twice as fast, and they pass so slowly here. I used to think lessons a nuisance, and wish I had only half as many. Now I should be glad to be properly taught again. My old governess would not live with grandmother if she might, and grandmother would not have her or pay her. She thinks anything spent on me is thrown away, and says I know more than I ought already. She hates music. Mamma's piano is gone, and the old one here is horrible, no two notes in tune. It must be a hundred years old, I should think. And grandmother is glad it is so bad, for she says if it were a good instrument, I should be at it always, as mamma used to be at hers, and there would be no peace. It is just the same if I sing. I went out of doors to-day, and thought she could not hear me, but she did, and sent Thorley to say I was to stop that screaming, for it was worse than a railway-whistle."