said Charlotte to her mother one day towards the end of the following week, “do you think – I mean would you mind?” She hesitated and grew rather red, and looked down at her dress.
“Would I mind what, dear? Don’t be afraid to say what it is,” said her mother, smiling. Her eyes half unconsciously followed Charlotte’s and rested on her frock. It was one which had undoubtedly “seen better days,” and careful though Charlotte was, nothing could hide the marks of wear.
“Is it about your dress?” Mrs Waldron exclaimed suddenly. “I was going to speak about it. I don’t think you can go on wearing that old cashmere at school any more. You must keep it for home – for the afternoons when you are working in the school-room, and the mornings you don’t go to Miss Lloyd’s; and you must begin your navy-blue serge for regular wear.”
Charlotte’s face cleared.
“Oh, thank you, mamma,” she said. “I am so glad. But – what about a best frock? You know, however careful one is, one can’t look really neat with only one regular dress,” and Charlotte’s face fell again.
“Of course not. Have I ever expected you to manage with only one, so to say? I have sent for patterns already, and Miss Burt is coming about making you a new one. And your velveteen must be refreshed a little for the evenings. By Christmas, if I can possibly afford it, I should like to get you something new for the evenings. There may be concerts, or possibly one or two children’s parties.”
“I don’t care to go if there are,” said Charlotte, “I’m getting too old for them. In proper, regular society, mamma – not a common little town like Wortherham – girls don’t go out when they’re my age, between the two, as it were, do they?”
Mrs Waldron smiled a very little. Charlotte was changing certainly.
“We cannot make hard and fast rules, placed as we are,” she said. “If you don’t care to go to any more children’s parties you need not. But of course Wortherham is your – our – home. I might wish it were in a different place for many reasons, but wishing in such cases is no use, and indeed often does harm. And on the whole it is better to have some friendly intercourse with the people one lives among, even though they may not be very congenial, than to shut oneself out from all sympathies and interests except home ones.” Charlotte did not at once answer, and indeed when she did speak again it was scarcely in reply to her mother.
“I like some of the girls very well. I don’t much care to be intimate with any of them, except perhaps Gueda Knox, and she scarcely counts, she’s so little here now; but they’re nice enough mostly. Only they do gossip a good deal, and make remarks about things that don’t concern them. Mamma,” she went on abruptly, “might I begin wearing my navy-blue to-morrow? I will take great care of it, so that it shall look quite nice on Sundays till I get my new one.”
“To-morrow?” repeated Mrs Waldron, a little surprised. “To-morrow is Friday. Isn’t Monday a better day to begin it?”
Again Charlotte reddened a little.
“Mamma,” she said, “it’s just that I don’t want to begin it on Monday. That girl is coming on Monday for the first time – Lady Mildred’s niece, you know. And you don’t know how I should hate them saying I had got a new dress because of her coming.”
“Would they really be so ill-bred?” exclaimed Mrs Waldron, almost startled.
“Oh, yes. They don’t mean it, they don’t know better. Mamma, I don’t think you can know quite as well as I do how common some of the people here are,” and Charlotte’s face took an expression almost of disgust. “When you see the ladies you call on, they are on their good behaviour, I suppose, and if they did begin to gossip you would somehow manage to discourage it. Oh, mamma, you should be glad you weren’t brought up here.”
Mrs Waldron was half distressed and half amused.
“But we must make the best of it,” she said. “We can’t leave Wortherham, Charlotte.”
“Couldn’t we go and live quite in the country, however quiet and dull it was? I wouldn’t mind.”
“No; for several years at least it would be impossible. There may be opportunities for starting the boys in life here that we must not neglect. And living quite in the country would entail more fatigue for your father.” Charlotte sighed.
“My dear child,” said her mother, “I don’t quite understand you. You have never seemed discontented with your home before. You must not get to take such a gloomy view of things.”
“I don’t mean to be discontented, mamma,” said Charlotte.
“Well, dear, try and get over it. You will have to meet many people in life apparently more favoured and fortunate than you. Perhaps things have in some ways been too smooth for you, Charlotte.”
“Mamma, I am not so selfish as you think. It is not only for myself I’d like some things to be different. Besides, I am old enough now to know that you and papa have a great deal of anxiety. Do you think I only care for myself, mamma?”
“No, dear, I don’t. But don’t you think the best way to help us would be by letting us see that you are happy, and appreciating the advantages we can give you?”
“Yes, mamma,” said Charlotte, submissively enough. But her mother’s eyes followed her somewhat anxiously as she left the room.
The amount of gossip at Miss Lloyd’s school about the expected new pupil was certainly absurd. The young lady’s riches and beauty and connections were discussed and exaggerated as only school-girls can discuss and exaggerate such matters, and the one girl who said nothing, and scarcely seemed to listen to all the chatter, was yet perhaps the most impressed by it.
Charlotte took care to be early in her place that Monday morning. There was half-an-hour’s “preparation” – spent by the conscientious pupils in refreshing their memories by running over the lessons already thoroughly learnt, by the lazy ones in endeavouring to compress into the short space of time the work which should have taken several hours, and by the incorrigibly careless and indifferent in whispered banter or gossip – before the regular work of the day began. And Charlotte, who it need hardly be said belonged to the first category, was looking over a German translation in which she was soon so interested as really to have forgotten the impending arrival, when the class-room door opened, and Miss Lloyd appeared, conducting the new pupil.
“Good morning, young ladies,” she said quietly as usual, glancing round at the two rows of girls who stood up as she came in.
“I wish to introduce you all and Miss Meredon to each other. Miss Meredon is to be a fellow-worker with you for some time.”
This was Miss Lloyd’s customary formula of presentation, and she made it with simplicity and dignity, in no way departing from her usual words or manner. Some of the girls raised their eyebrows with surprise that the advent of this much-talked-of young lady should have called forth no greater demonstration; some, and Mr Waldron’s daughter among them, felt their respect for the quiet, somewhat prim little lady sensibly rise as they listened to her.
“She’s not a snob, any way,” thought Charlotte, and then she half reluctantly allowed her eyes to turn to the girl standing beside the lady-principal. “Papa” had said she was lovely, so had Dr Lewis, but papa’s opinion carried of course far more weight. But, even without it, even without any prepossession or expectation on the subject, Charlotte felt that her very first glance decided it. The girl was lovely – far, far more than “pretty,” like little Isabel Lewis, with her merry eyes and turned-up nose, or “interesting,” like pale-faced Gueda Knox. She was really lovely. Not very fair, but with a brightness rather than brilliance about her which came from one scarcely knew where – it seemed a part of herself, of her sunny hair, of her slightly flushed cheeks, of her smiling and yet appealing eyes, of her whole self. Her very attitude suggested full, springing, and yet gentle, youthful life as she stood there, one foot slightly advanced, her hand half upraised, as if ready and desirous to be friends and friendly with every one; and a slight, very slight shade of disappointment seemed to pass over