Love Me Little, Love Me Long Part 41

There are people with memories so constructed that what they said, and another did not contradict or even answer, seems to them, upon retrospect, to have been delivered by that other person, and received in dead silence by themselves.

Meantime Lucy was in her own room and the door bolted.

So she was the next day; and uneasy Mrs. Bazalgette came hunting her, and tapped at the door after first trying the handle, which in Lucy's creed was not a discreet and polished act.

"n.o.body admitted here till three o'clock."

"It is me, Lucy."

"So I conclude," said Lucy gayly. "'Me' must call again at three, whoever it is."

"Not I," said Aunt Bazalgette, and flounced off in a pet.

At three Dignity dissolved in curiosity, and Mrs. Bazalgette entered her niece's room in an ill-temper; it vanished like smoke at the sight of two new dresses, peach-colored and _glacees,_ just finished, lying on the bed. An eager fire of questions. "Where did you get them?

which is mine? who made them?"

"A new dressmaker."

"Ah! what a G.o.dsend to poor us! Who is she?"

"Let me see how you like her work before I tell you. Try this one on."

Mrs. Bazalgette tried on her dress, and was charmed with it. Lucy would not try on hers. She said she had done so, and it fitted well enough for her.

"Everything fits you, you witch," replied the B. "I must have this woman's address; she is an angel."

Lucy looked pleased. "She is only a beginner, but desirous to please you; and 'zeal goes farther than talent,' says Mr. Dodd."

"Mr. Dodd! Ah! by-the-by, that reminds me--I am so glad you mentioned his name. Where does the woman live?"

"The woman, or, as some consider her, the girl, lives at present with a charming person called by the world Mrs. Bazalgette, but by the dressmaker her sweet little aunt--" (kiss) (kiss) (kiss); and Lucy, whose natural affection for this lady was by a certain law of nature heated higher by working day and night for her in secret, felt a need of expansion, and curled, round her like a serpent with a dove's heart.

Mrs. Bazalgette did what you and I, manly reader, should have been apt to omit. She extricated herself, not roughly, yet a little hastily--like a water-snake gliding out of the other sweet serpent's folds.* Sacred dress being present, she deemed caresses frivolous--and ill-timed. "There, there, let me alone, child, and tell me all about it directly. 'What put it into your head? Who taught you? Is this your first attempt? Have you paid for the silk, or am I to? Do tell me quick; don't keep me on thorns!"

* Here flashes on the cultivated mind the sprightly couplet,

"Oh, that I had my mistress at this bay, To kiss and clip me--till I run away."

SHAKESPEARE.--Venus and Adonis.

Lucy answered this fusillade in detail. "You know, aunt, dressmakers bring us their failures, and we, by our hints, get them made into successes."

"So we do."

"So I said to myself, 'Now why not bring a little intelligence to bear at the beginning, and make these things right at once?' Well, I bought several books, and studied them, and practiced cutting out, in large sheets of brown paper first; next I ventured a small flight--I made Jane a gown."

"What! your servant?"

"Yes. I had a double motive; first attempts are seldom brilliant, and it was better to fail in merino, and on Jane, than on you, madam, and in silk. In the next place, Jane had been giving herself airs, and objecting to do some work of that kind for me, so I thought it a good opportunity to teach her that dignity does not consist in being disobliging. The poor girl is so ashamed now: she comes to me in her merino frock, and pesters me all day to let her do things for me. I am at my wit's end sometimes to invent unreal distresses, like the writers of fiction, you know; and, aunty, dear, you will not have to pay for the stuff: to tell you the real truth, I overheard Mr.

Bazalgette say something about the length of your last dressmaker's bill, and, as I have been very economical at Font Abbey, I found I had eighteen pounds to spare, so I said nothing, but I thought we will have a dress apiece that _n.o.body_ shall have to pay for."

"Eighteen pounds? These two lovely dresses, lace, tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, and all, for eighteen pounds!"

"Yes, aunt. So you see those good souls that make our dresses have imposed upon us without ceremony: they would have been twenty-five pounds apiece; now would they not?"

"At least. Well, you are a clever girl. I might as well try on yours, as you won't."

"Do, dear."

She tried on Lucy's gown, and, as before, got two looking-gla.s.ses into a line, twisted and twirled, and inspected herself north, south, east and west, and in an hour and a half resigned herself to take the dress off. Lucy observed with a sly smile that her gayety declined, and she became silent and pensive.

"In the dead of the night, when with labor oppressed, All mortals enjoy the sweet blessing of rest," a phantom stood at Lucy's bedside and fingered her. She awoke with a violent scream, the first note of which pierced the night's dull ear, but the second sounded like a wail from a well, being uttered a long way under the bedclothes. "Hus.h.!.+

don't be a fool," cried the affectionate phantom; and kneaded the uncertain form through the bedclothes; "fancy screeching so at sight of me!" Then gradually a single eye peeped timidly between two white hands that held the sheets ready for defense like a s.h.i.+eld.

"B--b--but you are all in white," gulped Lucy, trembling all over; for her delicate fibers were set quivering, and could not be stilled by a word, fingered at midnight all in a moment by a shape.

"Why, what color should I be--in my nightgown?" snapped the specter.

"What color is yours?" and she gave Lucy a little angry pull--"and everybody else's?"

"But at the dead of night, aunt, and without any warning--it's terrible. Oh dear!" (another little gulp in the throat, exceeding pretty).

"Lucy, be yourself," said the specter, severely; "you used not to be so selfish as to turn hysterical when your aunt came to you for advice."

Lucy had to do a little. "Forgive, blessed shade!" She apologized, crushed down her obtrusive, egotistical tremors, and vibrated to herself.

Placable Aunt Bazalgette accepted her excuses, and opened the business that brought her there.

"I didn't leave my bed at this hour for nothing, you may be sure."

"N--no, aunt."

"Lucy," continued Mrs. Bazalgette, deepening, "there is a weight on my mind."

Up sat Lucy in the bed, and two sapphire eyes opened wide and made terror lovely.

"Oh, aunt, what have you been doing? It is remorse, then, that will not let you sleep. Ah! I see! your flirtations--your flirtations--this is the end of them."

"My flirtations!" cried the other, in great surprise. "I never flirt.

I only amuse myself with them."*

*In strict grammar this "them" ought to refer to "flirtations;" but Lucy's aunt did not talk strict grammar.

Does yours?

"You--never--flirt? Oh! oh! oh! Mr. Christopher, Mr. Horne, Sir George Healey, Mr. M'Donnell, Mr. Wolfenton, Mr. Vaughan--there! oh, and Mr.

Dodd!"

"Well, at all events, it's not for any of those fools I get out of my bed at this time of night. I have a weight on my mind; so do be serious, if you can. Lucy, I tried all yesterday to hide it from myself, but I cannot succeed."