GEORGE SHAW - The Complete Works

“That is just what I had hoped. Come without condition, or second thought of any kind.”

“But—” began Alice, and stopped, bewildered by the pace at which the negotiation was proceeding. She murmured a few words, and waited for Lydia to proceed. But Lydia had said her say, and evidently expected a reply, though she seemed assured of having her own way, whatever Alice’s views might be.

“I do not quite understand, Miss Carew. What duties? — what would you expect of me?”

“A great deal,” said Lydia, gravely. “Much more than I should from a mere professional companion.”

“But I am a professional companion,” protested Alice.

“Whose?”

Alice flushed again, angrily this time. “I did not mean to say—”

“You do not mean to say that you will have nothing to do with me,” said Lydia, stopping her quietly. “Why are you so scrupulous, Miss Goff? You will be close to your home, and can return to it at any moment if you become dissatisfied with your position here.”

Fearful that she had disgraced herself by ill manners; loath to be taken possession of as if her wishes were of no consequence when a rich lady’s whim was to be gratified; suspicious — since she had often heard gossiping tales of the dishonesty of people in high positions — lest she should be cheated out of the salary she had come resolved to demand; and withal unable to defend herself against Miss Carew, Alice caught at the first excuse that occurred to her.

“I should like a little time to consider,” she said.

“Time to accustom yourself to me, is it not? You can have as long as you plea-”

“Oh, I can let you know tomorrow,” interrupted Alice, officiously.

“Thank you. I will send a note to Mrs. Goff to say that she need not expect you back until tomorrow.”

“But I did not mean — I am not prepared to stay,” remonstrated Alice, feeling that she was being entangled in a snare.

“We shall take a walk after dinner, then, and call at your house, where you can make your preparations. But I think I can supply you with all you will require.”

Alice dared make no further objection. “I am afraid,” she stammered, “you will think me horribly rude; but I am so useless, and you are so sure to be disappointed, that — that—”

“You are not rude, Miss Goff; but I find you very shy. You want to run away and hide from new faces and new surroundings.” Alice, who was self-possessed and even overbearing in Wiltstoken society, felt that she was misunderstood, but did not know how to vindicate herself. Lydia resumed, “I have formed my habits in the course of my travels, and so live without ceremony. We dine early — at six.”

Alice had dined at two, but did not feel bound to confess it.

“Let me show you your room,” said Lydia, rising. “This is a curious drawingroom,” she added, glancing around. “I only use it occasionally to receive visitors.” She looked about her again with some interest, as if the apartment belonged to some one else, and led the way to a room on the first floor, furnished as a lady’s bedchamber. “If you dislike this,” she said, “or cannot arrange it to suit you, there are others, of which you can have your choice. Come to my boudoir when you are ready.”

“Where is that?” said Alice, anxiously.

“It is — You had better ring for some one to show you. I will send you my maid.”

Alice, even more afraid of the maid than of the mistress, declined hastily. “I am accustomed to attend to myself, Miss Carew,” with proud humility.

“You will find it more convenient to call me Lydia,” said Miss Carew. “Otherwise you will be supposed to refer to my grandaunt, a very old lady.” She then left the room.

Alice was fond of thinking that she had a womanly taste and touch in making a room pretty. She was accustomed to survey with pride her mother’s drawingroom, which she had garnished with cheap cretonnes, Japanese paper fans, and knick-knacks in ornamental pottery. She felt now that if she slept once in the bed before her, she could never be content in her mother’s house again. All that she had read and believed of the beauty of cheap and simple ornament, and the vulgarity of costliness, recurred to her as a hypocritical paraphrase of the “sour grapes” of the fox in the fable. She pictured to herself with a shudder the effect of a sixpenny Chinese umbrella in that fireplace, a cretonne valance to that bed, or chintz curtains to those windows. There was in the room a series of mirrors consisting of a great glass in which she could see herself at full length, another framed in the carved oaken dressing-table, and smaller ones of various shapes fixed to jointed arms that turned every way. To use them for the first time was like having eyes in the back of the head. She had never seen herself from all points of view before. As she gazed, she strove not to be ashamed of her dress; but even her face and figure, which usually afforded her unqualified delight, seemed robust and middle-class in Miss Carew’s mirrors.

“After all,” she said, seating herself on a chair that was even more luxurious to rest in than to look at; “putting the lace out of the question — and my old lace that belongs to mamma is quite as valuable — her whole dress cannot have cost much more than mine. At any rate, it is not worth much more, whatever she may have chosen to pay for it.”

But Alice was clever enough to envy Miss Carew her manners more than her dress. She would not admit to herself that she was not thoroughly a lady; but she felt that Lydia, in the eye of a stranger, would answer that description better than she. Still, as far as she had observed, Miss Carew was exceedingly cool in her proceedings, and did not take any pains to please those with whom she conversed. Alice had often made compacts of friendship with young ladies, and had invited them to call her by her Christian name; but on such occasions she had always called themn “dear” or “darling,” and, while the friendship lasted (which was often longer than a month, for Alice was a steadfast girl), had never met them without exchanging an embrace and a hearty kiss.

“And nothing,” she said, springing from the chair as she thought of this, and speaking very resolutely, “shall tempt me to believe that there is anything vulgar in sincere affection. I shall be on my guard against this woman.”

Having settled that matter for the present, she resumed her examination of the apartment, and was more and more attracted by it as she proceeded. For, thanks to her eminence as a local beauty, she had not that fear of beautiful and rich things which renders abject people incapable of associating costliness with comfort. Had the counterpane of the bed been her own, she would have unhesitatingly converted it into a ball-dress. There were toilet appliances of which she had never felt the need, and could only guess the use. She looked with despair into the two large closets, thinking how poor a show her three dresses, her ulster, and her few old jackets would make there. There was also a dressing-room with a marble bath that made cleanliness a luxury instead of one of the sternest of the virtues, as it seemed at home. Yet she remarked that though every object was more or less ornamental, nothing had been placed in the rooms for the sake of ornament alone. Miss Carew, judged by her domestic arrangements, was a utilitarian before everything. There was a very handsome chimney piece; but as there was nothing on the mantel board, Alice made a faint effort to believe that it was inferior in point of taste to that in her own bedroom, which was covered with blue cloth, surrounded by fringe and brass headed nails, and laden with photographs in plush frames.

The striking of the hour reminded her that she had forgotten to prepare for dinner. Khe hastily took off her hat, washed her hands, spent another minute among the mirrors, and was summoning courage to ring the bell, when a doubt occurred to her. Ought she to put on her gloves before going down or not? This kept her in perplexity for many seconds. At last she resolved to put her gloves in her pocket, and be guided as to their further disposal by the example of her hostess. Then, not daring to hesitate any longer, she rang the bell, and was presently joined by a French lady of polished manners — Miss Carew’s maid who conducted her to the boudoir, a hexagonal apartment that, Alice thought, a sultana might have envied. Lydia was there, reading. Alice noted with relief that she had not changed her dress, and that she was ungloved.