Her mother had so often and so earnestly commented to her on lack of social culture as having been the cause of her own undoing, as having blasted her entire life, that Winefred, standing at the threshold of a new career in which this desideratum was to be acquired, felt timorous, lest she should make some great mistake, commit some solecism at the outstart.
'Hah!' said Mrs. Tomkin-Jones, throwing herself back in the chariot, 'there passed my Lady Vire de Vétte. How unfortunate that she was looking in the wrong direction and did not catch my eye and my greeting.'
'Mamma,' said Jesse, 'there is Aunt Jose on the footway, shall we take her up?'
Mrs. Tomkin-Jones did not hear her. She was studying the chimney tops of the houses on the opposite side of the street, and so failed to see Mrs. Jose.
'Baker!' said the lady, 'drive to Miss Prance, the milliner.' Then half to Jesse, half to Winefred, 'It is essential that we get our dear child equipped properly. Then we will go on to the mercer's.'
Winefred looked from side to side with undisguised admiration. She saw Mrs. Jose, caught her eye, and smiled and signed to her. So also Jesse, who kissed her hand.
'The Abbey,' said Mrs. Jones. 'My dear doctor, of whom I am the relict, lies there. He has a suitable, elegant monument. So also does Captain Shadrach Jones, his father—also with a neat memorial. Perhaps you would like to see them. Baker!'
'No, mamma,' said Jesse, 'it is the possessed with devils who frequent tombs.'
'My dear, don't be irreverent.' But she did not insist on dismounting at the Abbey. Presently the widow said, 'I presume that the creature chose those dresses for you.'