She thanked me so warmly that she made me feel still more ashamed of myself; it seemed such a wonderful thing that my mistress should stoop to entreat where she could by right command, but she was very tolerant of a girl’s waywardness. She did not leave me even then, but changed the subject. She sat down and talked to me for a few minutes about myself and Aunt Agatha. I had not been home yet, and she wanted me to fix some afternoon when Mrs. Garnett or Travers could take my place.
“We must not let you get too dull, Merle,” she said, gently. “Hannah is a good girl, but she cannot be a companion to you in any sense of the word.” And perhaps in that she was right.
I woke the following Thursday with a sense of uneasiness oppressing me, so largely do our small fears magnify themselves when indulged. As the afternoon approached I grew quite pale with apprehension, and Hannah, with unspoken sympathy, but she had wonderful tact for a girl, only hinted at the matter in a roundabout way.
I had dressed Reggie in his turquoise blue velvet, and was fastening my clean frilled apron over my black gown, when Hannah said quietly, “Well, it is no wonder master likes to show people what sort of nurse he has got. I don’t think anyone could look so nice in a cap and apron as you do, Miss Fenton. It is just as though you were making believe to be a servant like me, and it would not do anyhow.”
I smiled a little at Hannah’s homely compliment, but I confessed it pleased me and gave me courage. I felt still more like myself when my boy put his dimpled arms round my neck, and hid his dear face on my shoulder. I could not persuade him to loosen his hold until his mother spoke to him, and there was Joyce holding tightly to my gown all the time.
The room was so full that it almost made me giddy. It was good of Mrs. Morton to rise from her seat and meet me, but all her coaxing speeches would not make Reggie do more than raise his head from my shoulder. He sat in my arms like a baby prince, beating off everyone with his little hands, and refusing even to go to his father.
Everyone wanted to kiss him, and I carried him from one to another. Joyce had left me at once for her mother. Some of the ladies questioned me about the children. They spoke very civilly, but their inquisitive glances made my face burn, and it was with difficulty that I made suitable replies. Once I looked up, and saw that Mr. Morton was watching me. His glance was critical, but not unkindly. I had a feeling then that he was subjecting me purposely to this test. I must carry out my theory into practice. I am convinced all this was in his mind as he looked at me, and I no longer bore a grudge against him.
Not long afterwards I had an opportunity of learning that he could own himself fallible on some points. He was exceedingly just, and could bear a rebuke even from an inferior, if it proved him to be clearly in the wrong.
One afternoon he came into the nursery to play with the children for a few minutes. He would wind up their mechanical toys to amuse them. Reggie was unusually fretful, and nothing seemed to please him. He scolded both his father and his walking doll, and would have nothing to say to the learned dog who beat the timbrels and nodded his head approvingly to his own music. Presently he caught sight of his favourite woolly lamb placed out of his reach on the mantelpiece, and began screaming and kicking.
“Naughty Reggie,” observed his father, complacently, and he was taking down the toy when I begged him respectfully to replace it.