North and South Page #2

								

one whom she could not love.

“I have spared no expense in her trousseau,” were the next words
Margaret heard. “She has all the beautiful Indian shawls and scarfs the
General gave to me, but which I shall never wear again.”

“She is a lucky girl,” replied another voice, which Margaret knew to be
that of Mrs. Gibson, a lady who was taking a double interest in the
conversation, from the fact of one of her daughters having been married
within the last few weeks. “Helen had set her heart upon an Indian
shawl, but really when I found what an extravagant price was asked, I
was obliged to refuse her. She will be quite envious when she hears of
Edith having Indian shawls. What kind are they? Delhi? with the lovely
little borders?”

Margaret heard her aunt’s voice again, but this time it was as if she
had raised herself up from her half-recumbent position, and were looking
into the more dimly lighted back drawing-room. “Edith! Edith!” cried
she; and then she sank as if wearied by the exertion. Margaret stepped
forward.

“Edith is asleep, Aunt Shaw. Is it anything I can do?”

All the ladies said “poor child!” on receiving this distressing
intelligence about Edith; and the minute lap-dog in Mrs. Shaw’s arms
began to bark, as if excited by the burst of pity.

“Hush, Tiny! you naughty little girl! you will waken your mistress. It
was only to ask Edith if she would tell Newton to bring down her shawls;
perhaps you would go, Margaret dear?”

Margaret went up into the old nursery at the very top of the house,
where Newton was busy getting up some laces which were required for the
wedding. While Newton went (not without a muttered grumbling) to undo
the shawls, which had already been exhibited four or five times that
day, Margaret looked round upon the nursery; the first room in that
house with which she had become familiar nine years ago, when she was
brought, all untamed from the forest, to share the home, the play, and
the lessons of her cousin Edith. She remembered the dark, dim look of
the London nursery, presided over by an austere and ceremonious nurse,
who was terribly particular about clean hands and torn frocks. She
recollected the first tea up there--separate from her father and aunt,
who were dining somewhere down below, an infinite depth of stairs; for
unless she were up in the sky (the child thought), they must be deep
down in the bowels of the earth. At home--before she came to live in
Harley Street--her mother’s dressing-room had been her nursery; and as
they kept early hours in the country parsonage, Margaret had always had
her meals with her father and mother. Oh! well did the tall stately girl
of eighteen remember the tears shed with such wild passion of grief by
the little girl of nine, as she hid her face under the bed-clothes in
that first night; and how she was bidden not to cry by the nurse,
because it would disturb Miss Edith; and how she had cried as bitterly,
but more quietly, till her newly-seen, grand, pretty aunt had come
								Rate this book:
0.0 / 0 votes