We were in the midst of an animated discussion upon the respective merits of light and dark oak, when Philip drew our attention to what he termed an extraordinary collection of finery coming down the lane.
It was Mrs Trafford, her long train sweeping the dust into clouds behind her, accompanied by Mrs Chichester. It would be vain to attempt a description of her appearance, laden as she was with every conceivable folly which French and English modistes could invent. Perhaps Philip's comment—'Too much of everything, from the lady herself to her feathers and furbelows'—best expressed the impression her appearance gave. I saw his eyes turn for refreshment upon Lilian's simple holland dress and the delicate colouring and outline of her face. She always looked her best in contrast with Marian; the soft rose of her cheeks, the deep tender blue eyes, and the pale gold hair, in eloquent protest against the other's vivid black and white and red.
Mrs Trafford (how glad I was to be able to discontinue calling her Miss Farrar) had no misgivings. Misgivings! Was not everything she had on in the latest extreme of fashion? She evidently considered that it was for us to have misgivings; though she generously tried to make matters pleasant and set us at our ease by giving us a description of Paris and details of fashionable life there. We had no idea what Paris life was like; no one could without having been there; it was too absolutely delightful, quite too awfully charming. She positively could not exist without going every year to the enchanting place; and so forth, and so forth; all in superlatives.
She made a great point too of telling us how very much 'Dear Arthur' had enjoyed the life there. 'He really was quite too enraptured, and said he had never known what enjoyment was till he had seen Paris.'
Mrs Chichester put in a word to the effect that her brother had frequently visited Paris; and the life there was not new to him. But Marian reminded her that he had not before visited it with her, which made all the difference.
With lowered eyes, Mrs Chichester softly remarked that it doubtlessly did make a difference.
Of course it did—all the difference! 'And'—turning pleasantly to Lilian once again—'I have brought over a French maid with me: one really cannot expect to look commy fo without, don't you know, in these days.'
I tranquilly supposed that they could not; never again would Marian receive a home-thrust from me; though there could not be friendship, there would be no more war between us. I did not even allude to the Pratts.
'You must all come to Fairview to dinner; aunty and all, ong fam-y you know; you really must.' And turning to Philip, she graciously expressed a hope that Mr Dallas also would do her the honour.
Mr Dallas gravely replied that he was entirely in our hands and ready to do our bidding. At which she laughingly advised me not to take all that for gospel. 'You can't expect it always to go on like that, you know, Miss Haddon; though I am sure I have no reason to complain. No one could be more thought of than I am. You would say that if you could have seen how patiently Arthur waited for me at the shops—hours and hours, I assure you. The very worst he did was to give a little sigh sometimes, and no one could be offended at that, knowing how some of the husbands go on.—Waiting about in the shops really is a test of a husband's good-nature, Mr Dallas.'