Volume Ii Part 1 (1/2)
The Widow Barnaby.
by Frances Trollope.
Vol. II.
CHAPTER I.
DIFFICULTIES ATTENDING A YOUNG LADY'S APPEARANCE AT A BALL.--A WET SUNDAY.--DIFFERENCE OF TASTE.
Though it was two minutes and a half past the time named for dinner when Agnes made her appearance, she found her aunt's temper very slightly acerbated by the delay, for the delightful recollections of her morning expedition still endured, and she was more inclined to boast than to scold.
”Well, Agnes, I hope at last I have some news that will please you,” she said. ”What think you of my having subscribed for us both for six weeks?”
”Subscribed for what, aunt? ... to the library?”
”Yes; I have subscribed there, too, for a month ... and we must go every day, rain or s.h.i.+ne, to make it answer. But I have done a good deal more than that for you, my dear; I have subscribed to the b.a.l.l.s entirely for your sake, Agnes: and whatever becomes of you in future life, I trust you will never forget all I have done for you now.”
”But I am afraid, aunt, it will cost you a great deal of money to take me with you to the b.a.l.l.s; and as I have never been yet, I cannot know anything about it, you know; and I do a.s.sure you that I shall not at all mind being left at home.”
”And a pretty story that would make, wouldn't it?... I tell you, child, I _have_ paid the money already ... and here are the cutlets; so sit down, and be thankful for all my kindness to you.... Is my beer come, Jerningham?”
Agnes sat down, and began eating her cutlet; but it was thoughtfully, for there were cares that rested heavily upon her heart; and though they were certainly of a minor species, she must be forgiven if at sixteen and a half they were sufficient to perplex her sorely. She had neither shoes nor gloves fit to appear at a ball. She dared not ask for them, she dared not go without them, and she dared not refuse to go at all.
”This certainly is the most beautiful place I ever saw in my life!” said the widow, while renewing her attack upon the dish of cutlets; ”such shops!... such a milliner! and, as for the library, its perfectly like going into public! What an advantage it is every morning of one's life to be able to go to such a place as that! Elizabeth Peters seemed to know everybody; and I heard them talking of people of the highest fas.h.i.+on, as some of those we are sure to meet at the ball. What an immense advantage it is for you, Agnes, to be introduced in such a manner at such a place as this!”
”It is indeed a most beautiful place, aunt, and the Peterses are most kind and charming people.”
”Then for once in your life, child, you are pleased!... that's a comfort.... And I have got something to shew you, Agnes, such a scarf!... real French blonde: ... its monstrous expensive, I'm afraid; but everybody says that the respectability of a girl depends entirely upon the style of her chaperon. I'm sure I would no more let my poor dear sister's child go out with me, if I was shabbily dressed, than I would fly. I wonder Mrs. Duval does not send home my things; but perhaps she waits for me to send my turban. She's going to put my feathers in for me, Agnes,--quite a favour I a.s.sure you; ... but she was so respectful in her manner to Elizabeth Peters. I am sure, if I had had any notion what sort of people they were, I should have made Barnaby leave his business to Mr. Dobbs for a little while, that he might have brought me to see them long ago.”
”It is indeed a pleasure to meet with such friends,” said Agnes; ”and perhaps...”
”Perhaps what, child?”
”If either of the three girls stay away from the ball, perhaps, aunt, you would be so kind as to let me stay away too, and we should pa.s.s the evening so delightfully together.”
”G.o.d give me patience, Agnes, for I'm sure you are enough to drive one wild. Here have I been subscribing to the b.a.l.l.s, and actually paying down ready money beforehand for your tickets; and now, ungrateful creature that you are, you tell me you won't go!... I only wish the Peterses could hear you, and then they'd know what you are.”
”My only objection to going to the ball, aunt,” said Agnes with desperate courage, ”is, the fear that you would be obliged to get gloves and shoes for me.”
”Gloves and shoes!... why, that's just the advantage of mourning.
You'll have my black silk stockings, you know, all except a pair or two of the best,--and with black stockings I don't suppose you would choose to put on white shoes. That would be rather too much in the magpie style, I suppose, wouldn't it?... And for gloves, I don't see how, in such _very_ deep mourning, you would wear anything but black gloves too; and there are two pair of mine that you may have. I could lend you an old pair of my black satin shoes too, only your feet and your hands are so frightfully out of proportion to your height.... I was always reckoned to be most perfectly in proportion, every part of my figure; but your hands and feet are absolutely ridiculous from their smallness: you take after your father in that, and a great misfortune it is, for it will prevent your ever profiting by my shoes or my gloves either, unless you are clever enough to take them in,--and that I don't believe you are--not fingers and all....”
”May I wear long sleeves then, aunt?” said Agnes with considerable animation, from having suddenly conceived a project, by means of which she thought she might render herself and her sables presentable.
”Because you have got no long gloves, I suppose? Why yes, child, I see no objection, in such very deep mourning as yours. It is a strange whim you have taken, Agnes; but it is certainly very convenient.”
”And will you give me leave, aunt, to use all the black you have been so kind as to give me?”