From this moment a steady pursuit of one idea characterized Ringfield's actions. Already charged to explosive point by pressure of emotions both worthy and the reverse, he immediately entered into correspondence with several charitable institutions with regard to Angeel, and he also wrote to Mr. Enderby and Mr. Abercorn. It was now the ninth of the month and the snow still held. Sobriety still held and long faces; the American organ was never opened, and Pauline and her satellite, Miss Cordova, were mostly buried in their bedrooms, concocting an impromptu trousseau.
CHAPTER XXII
THE TROUSSEAU OF PAULINE
"—the whole domain To some, too lightly minded, might appear A meadow carpet for the dancing hours."
"Tra-la!" sang Miss Clairville, as she pressed heavily on the folds of a purple cloth skirt which had once done service in the "Grand Duchess," but was now being transformed by hot irons, rows of black braid and gilt buttons into a highly respectable travelling dress.
"I thought at first of giving this old thing away, but see how well it's going to look, after all!"
The Cordova, busy heating an iron on the "drum" which stood in a corner of the room, looked at the skirt and at first said nothing.
"It's too dark for a bride's travelling-dress," she said after a while.
"Do you think so? But not for a dark bride," said the other with an uneasy frown. "Well, I'm not a girl, you see; besides, without a sewing machine you and I could never manufacture an entire costume. I meant to give it to you; in fact, I had it tied up in that bundle once, then I changed my mind—woman's prerogative—and here it is."
"Thank you, but I shouldn't care for it anyhow, purple's not my colour; it looks awful with my kind of hair."