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Not Like Other Girls
Chapter 26. "Oh, You Are Proud!"
Rosa Nouchette Carey
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       _ CHAPTER XXVI. "OH, YOU ARE PROUD!"
       On the following Monday morning, Nan said in rather a curious voice to Phillis,--
       "If no customers call to-day, our work-room will be empty. I wonder what we shall do with ourselves?"
       To which Phillis replied, without a moment's hesitation,--
       "We will go down and bathe, and Dulce and I will have a swimming-match; and after that we will sit on the beach and quiz the people. Most likely there will be a troupe of colored minstrels on the Parade, and that will be fun."
       "Oh, I hope no one will come!" observed Dulce, overjoyed at the idea of a holiday; but, seeing Nan's face was full of rebuke at this outburst of frivolity, she said no more.
       It was decided at last that they should wait for an hour to see if any orders arrived, and after that they would consider themselves at liberty to amuse themselves for the remainder of the day. But, alas for Dulce's hopes! long before the appointed hour had expired, the gate-bell rang, and Miss Drummond made her appearance with a large paper parcel, which she deposited on the table with a radiant face.
       The story was soon told. Her silk dress was such a success, and dear Archie was so charmed with it--here Mattie, with a blush, deposited a neatly-sealed little packet in Nan's hand--that he had actually proposed that she should have another gown made after the same pattern for every-day wear. And he had taken her himself directly after breakfast down to Mordant's, and had chosen her this dress. He had never done such a thing before, even for Grace: so no wonder Mattie was in the seventh heaven of delight.
       "It is very pretty," observed Nan, critically: "your brother has good taste." Which speech was of course retailed to Archie.
       Mattie had only just left the cottage, when another customer appeared in the person of Miss Middleton.
       Nan, who had just begun her cutting-out, met her with a pleased glance of recognition, and then, remembering her errand, bowed rather gravely. But Miss Middleton, after a moment's hesitation, held out her hand.
       She had not been able to make up her mind about these girls. Her father's shocked sense of decorum, and her own old-fashioned gentlewoman's idea, had raised certain difficulties in her mind, which she had found it hard to overcome. "Recollect, Elizabeth, I will not have those girls brought here," the colonel had said to her that very morning. "They may be all very well in their way, but I have changed my opinion of them. There's poor Drummond: now mark my words, there will be trouble by and by in that quarter." For Colonel Middleton had groaned in spirit ever since the morning he had seen the young vicar walking with Phillis down the Braidwood Road, when she was carrying Mrs. Trimmings's dress. Elizabeth answered this gentle protest by one of her gentle smiles. "Very well, dear father: I will ask no one to Brooklyn against your wish, you may be sure of that; but I suppose they may make my new dress? Mattie's has been such a success; they certainly understand their business."
       "You have a right to select your own dressmaker, Elizabeth," returned the colonel, with a frigid wave of his hand, for he had not got over his disappointment about the girls. "I only warn you because you are very quixotic in your notions; but we must take the world as we find it, and make the best of it; and there is your brother coming home by and by. We must be careful, for Hammond's sake." And, as Elizabeth's good sense owned the justice of her father's remark, there was nothing more said on the subject.
       But it was not without a feeling of embarrassment that Miss Middleton entered the cottage: her great heart was yearning over these girls, whom she was compelled to keep at a distance. True, her father was right, Hammond was coming home, and a young officer of seven-and-twenty was not to be trusted where three pretty girls were concerned: it would never do to invite them to Brooklyn or to make too much of them. Miss Middleton had ranged herself completely on her father's side, but at the sight of Nan's sweet face and her grave little bow she forgot all her prudent resolutions, and her hand was held out as though to an equal.
       "I have come to ask you if you will be good enough to make me a dress," she said, with a charming smile. "You have succeeded so well with Miss Drummond that I cannot help wishing to have one too." And when she had said this she looked quietly round her, and surveyed the pretty work-room, and Dulce sitting at the sewing-machine, and lastly Phillis's bright, intelligent face, as she stood by the table turning over some fashion-books.
       At that moment Mrs. Challoner entered the room with her little work-basket, and placed herself at the other window. Miss Middleton began talking to her at once, while Nan measured and pinned.
       "I don't think I ever spent a pleasanter half-hour," she told her father afterwards. "Mattie was right in what she said: they have made the work-room perfectly lovely with pictures and old china: and nothing could be nicer than their manners,--so simple and unassuming, yet with a touch of independence too."
       "And the old lady?" inquired the colonel, maliciously, for he had seen Mrs. Challoner in church, and knew better than to speak of her so disrespectfully.
       "Old lady, father! why, she is not old at all. She is an exceedingly pleasing person, only a little stately in her manner; one would not venture to take a liberty with her. We had such a nice talk while the eldest daughter was fitting me. Is it not strange, father dear, that they know the Paines? and Mrs. Sartoris is an old acquaintance of theirs. I think they were a little sorry when they heard we knew them too, for the second girl colored up so when I said Adelaide was your goddaughter."
       "Humph? we will have Adelaide down here, and hear all about them," responded her father, briskly.
       "Well, I don't know; I am afraid that would be painful to them, under their changed circumstances. Just as we were talking about Adelaide, Miss Mewlstone came in; and then they were so busy that I did not like to stay any longer. Ah, there is Mr. Drummond coming to interrupt us, as usual."
       And then the colonel retailed all this for Archie's benefit. He had come in to glean a crumb or two of intelligence, if he could, about the Challoners' movements, and the colonel's garrulity furnished him with a rich harvest.
       Phillis had taken Miss Mewlstone in hand at once in the intervals of business: she had inquired casually after Mrs. Cheyne's injured ankle.
       "It is going on well: she can stand now," returned Miss Mewlstone. "The confinement has been very trying for her, poor thing, and she looks sadly the worse for it. Don't take out those pins, my dear: what is the good of taking so much pains with a fat old thing like me and pricking your pretty fingers? Well, she is always asking me if I have seen any of you when I come home."
       "Mrs. Cheyne asks after us!" exclaimed Phillis, in a tone of astonishment.
       "Ah, just so. She has not forgotten you. Magdalene never forgets any one in whom she takes interest; not that she likes many people, poor dear! but then so few understand her. They will not believe that it is all on the surface, and that there is a good heart underneath."
       "You call her Magdalene," observed Phillis, rather curiously, looking up into Miss Mewlstone's placid face.
       "Ah, just so; I forgot. You see, I knew her as a child,--oh, such a wee toddling mite! younger than dear little Janie. I remember her just as though it were yesterday; the loveliest little creature,--prettier even than Janie!"
       "Was Janie the child who died?"
       "Yes, the darling! She was just three years old; a perfect angel of a child! and Bertie was a year older. Poor Magdalene! it is no wonder she is as she is,--no husband and children! When she sent for me I came at once, though I knew how it would be."
       "You knew how it would be?" repeated Phillis, in a questioning voice, for Miss Mewlstone had come to a full stop here. She looked a little confused at this repetition of her words.
       "Oh, just so--just so. Thank you, my dear. You have done that beautifully, I am sure. Never mind what an old woman says. When people are in trouble like that, they are often ill to live with. Magdalene has her moods; so have we all, my dear, though you are too young to know that; but no one understands her better than her old Bathsheba; that is my name, and a funny old name too, is it not?" continued Miss Mewlstone, blinking at Phillis with her little blue eyes. "The worst of having such a name is that no one will use it; even father and mother called me Barby, as Magdalene does sometimes still."
       Bathsheba Mewlstone! Phillis's lip curled with suppressed amusement. What a droll old thing she was! and yet she liked her, somehow.
       "If she takes it into her head to come and see you, you will try and put up with her sharp speeches?" continued Miss Mewlstone, a little anxiously, as she tied on her bonnet. "Mr. Drummond does not understand her at all: and I will not deny that she is hard on the poor young man, and makes fun of him a bit; but, bless you, it is only her way! She torments herself and other people, just because time will not pass quickly enough and let her forget. If we had children ourselves we should understand it better, and how in Ramah there must be lamentation," finished Miss Mewlstone, with a vague and peculiar reference to the martyred innocents which was rather inexplicable to Phillis, as in this case there was certainly no Herod, but an ordinary visitation of Providence; but then she did not know that Miss Mewlstone was often a little vague.
       After this hint, Phillis was not greatly surprised when, one morning, a pair of gray ponies stopped before the Friary, and Mrs. Cheyne's tall figure came slowly up the flagged path.
       It must be owned that Phillis's first feelings were not wholly pleasurable. Nan had gone out: an invalid lady staying at Seaview Cottage had sent for a dressmaker rather hurriedly, and Miss Milner had of course recommended them. Nan had gone at once, and, as Dulce looked pale, she had taken her with her for a walk. They might not be back for another hour; and a tete-a-tete with Mrs. Cheyne after their last interview was rather formidable.
       Dorothy preceded her with a parcel, which she deposited rather gingerly on the table. As Mrs. Cheyne entered the room she looked at Phillis in a cool, off-hand manner.
       "I am come on business," she said with a little nod. "How do you do, Miss Challoner? You are looking rather pale, I think." And then her keen glance travelled round the room.
       The girl flushed a little over this abruptness, but she did not lose her courage.
       "Is this the dress?" she asked, opening the parcel; but her fingers would tremble a little, in spite of her will. And then, as the rich folds of the black brocade came into view, she asked, in a business-like tone, in what style Mrs. Cheyne would wish it made, and how soon she required it. To all of which Mrs. Cheyne responded in the same dry, curt manner; and then the usual process of fitting began.
       Never had her task seemed so tedious and distasteful to Phillis. Even Mrs. Trimmings was preferable to this: she hardly ventured to raise her eyes, for fear of meeting Mrs. Cheyne's cold, satirical glance; and yet all the time she knew she was being watched. Mrs. Cheyne's vigilant silence meant something.
       If only her mother would come in! but she was shelling peas for Dorothy. To think Nan should have failed her on such an occasion! even Dulce would have been a comfort, though she was so easily frightened. She started almost nervously when Mrs. Cheyne at last broke the silence:
       "Yes, you are decidedly paler,--a little thinner, I think, and that after only a fortnight's work."
       Phillis looked up a little indignantly at this; but she found Mrs. Cheyne was regarding her not unkindly.
       "I am well enough," she returned, rather ungraciously; "but we are not used to so much confinement and the weather is hot. We shall grow accustomed to it in time."
       "You think restlessness is so easily subdued?" with a sneer.
       "No; but I believe it can be controlled," replied poor Phillis, who suffered more than any one guessed from this restraint on her sweet freedom.
       Mrs. Cheyne was right: even in this short time she was certainly paler and thinner.
       "You mean to persevere, then, in your moral suicide?"
       "We mean to persevere in our duty," corrected Phillis, as she pinned up a sleeve.
       "Rather a high moral tone for a dressmaker to take: don't you think so?" returned Mrs. Cheyne, in the voice Archie hated. The woman certainly had a double nature: there was a twist in her somewhere.
       This was too much for Phillis: she fired up in a moment.
       "Why should not dressmakers take a high moral tone? You make me feel glad I am one when you talk like that. This is our ambition,--Nan's and mine, for Dulce is too young to think much about it,--to show by our example that there is no degradation in work. Oh, it is hard! First Mr. Drummond comes, and talks to us as though we were doing wrong; and, then you, to cry down our honest labor, and call it suicide! Is it suicide to work with these hands, that God has made clever, for my mother?" cried Phillis; and her great gray eyes filled up with sudden tears.
       Mrs. Cheyne did not look displeased at the girl's outburst. If she had led up to this point, she could not have received it more calmly.
       "There, there! you need not excite yourself, child!" she said, more gently. "I only wanted to know what you would say. So Miss Mewlstone has been to you, I hear?--and Miss Middleton, too? but that's her benevolence. Of course Miss Mattie comes out of curiosity. How I do detest a fussy woman, with a tongue that chatters faster than a purling brook! What do you say? No harm in her?" for Phillis had muttered something to this effect. "Oh, that is negative praise! I like people to have a little harm in them: it is so much more amusing."
       "I cannot say I am of your opinion," returned Phillis, coldly: she was rather ashamed of her fit of enthusiasm, and cross in consequence.
       "My dear, I always thought Lucifer must have been rather an interesting person." Then, as Phillis looked scandalized, and drew herself up, she said, in a funny voice, "Now, don't tell your mother what I said, or she will think me an improper character; and I want to be introduced to her."
       "You want to be introduced to my mother!" Phillis could hardly believe her ears. Certainly Mrs. Cheyne was a most inexplicable person.
       "Dressmakers don't often have mothers, do they?" returned Mrs. Cheyne, with a laugh; "at least, they are never on view. I suppose they are in the back premises doing something?"
       "Shelling peas, for example," replied Phillis, roused to mischief by this: "that is mother's work this morning. Dorothy is old and single-handed, and needs all the help we can give her. Oh, yes! I will take you to her at once."
       "Indeed you must not, if it will inconvenience her!" returned Mrs. Cheyne, drawing back a little at this. She was full of curiosity to see the mother of these singular girls, but she did not wish to have her illusion too roughly dispelled; and the notion of Mrs. Challoner's homely employment grated a little on the feelings of the fine lady who had never done anything useful in her life.
       "Oh, nothing puts mother out!" returned Phillis, in an indifferent tone. The old spirit of fun was waking up in her, and she led the way promptly to the parlor.
       "Mother, Mrs. Cheyne wishes to see you," she announced, in a most matter-of-fact voice, as though that lady were a daily visitor.
       Mrs. Challoner looked up in a little surprise. One of Dorothy's rough aprons was tied over her nice black gown, and the yellow earthenware bowl was on her lap. Phillis took up some of the green pods, and began playing with them.
       "Will you excuse my rising?--you see my employment," observed Mrs. Challoner, with a smile that was almost as charming as Nan's; and she held out a white soft hand to her visitor.
       The perfect ease of her manner, the absence of all flurry, produced an instant effect on Mrs. Cheyne. For a moment she stood as though at a loss to explain her intrusion; but the next minute one of her rare sunshiny smiles crossed her face:
       "I must seem impertinent; but your daughters have interested me so much that I was anxious to see their mother. But I ought to apologize for disturbing you so early."
       "Not at all; all hours are the same to me. We are always glad to see our friends: are we not, Phillis? My dear, I wish you would carry these away to Dorothy and ask her to finish them."
       "Oh, no! pray do nothing of the kind," returned Mrs. Cheyne, eagerly. "You must not punish me in this way. Let me help you. Indeed, I am sure I can, if I only tried." And, to Phillis's intense amusement, Mrs. Cheyne drew off her delicate French gloves, and in another moment both ladies were seated close together, shelling peas into the same pan, and talking as though they had known each other for years.
       "Oh, it was too delicious!" exclaimed Phillis, when she had retailed this interview for Nan's and Dulce's benefit. "I knew mother would behave beautifully. If I had taken the Princess of Wales in to see her, she would not have had a word of apology for her apron, though it was a horrid coarse thing of Dorothy's. She would just have smiled at her, as she did at Mrs. Cheyne. Mother's behavior is always lovely."
       "Darling old mammie!" put in Dulce, rapturously, at this point.
       "I made some excuse and left them together, because I could see Mrs. Cheyne was dying to get rid of me; and I'm always amiable, and like to please people. Oh, it was the funniest sight, I assure you!--Mrs. Cheyne with her long fingers blazing with diamond rings, and the peas rolling down her silk dress; and mother just going on with her business in her quiet way. Oh, I had such a laugh when I was back in the work-room!"
       It cost Phillis some trouble to be properly demure when Mrs. Cheyne came into the work-room some time afterwards in search of her. Perhaps her mischievous eyes betrayed her, for Mrs. Cheyne shook her head at her in pretended rebuke:
       "Ah, I see; you will persist in treating things like a comedy. Well, that is better than putting on tragedy airs and making yourselves miserable. Now I have seen your mother, I am not quite so puzzled."
       "Indeed!" and Phillis fixed her eyes innocently on Mrs. Cheyne's face.
       "No; but I am not going to make you vain by telling you what I think of her: indiscriminate praise is not wholesome. Now, when are you coming to see me?--that is the point in question."
       "Dorothy will bring home your dress on Saturday," replied Phillis, a little dryly. "If it requires alteration, perhaps you will let me know, and of course I will come up to the White House at any time."
       "But I do not mean to wait for that. You are misunderstanding me purposely, Miss Challoner. I want you to come and talk to me one evening,--any evening. No one but Miss Mewlstone will be there."
       "Oh, no!" responded Phillis, suddenly turning very red:
       "I do not think that would do at all, Mrs. Cheyne. I do not mean to be rude or ungrateful for your kindness, but--but----" Here the girl stammered and broke down.
       "You wish, then, to confine our intercourse to a purely business relation?" asked Mrs. Cheyne, and her voice had a tone of the old bitterness.
       "Would it not be better under the circumstances? Forgive me if I am too proud, but----"
       "Oh, you are proud, terribly proud!" returned Mrs. Cheyne, taking up her words before she could complete her sentence. "You owe me a grudge for what I said that night, and now you are making me pay the penalty. Well, I am not meek: there is not a human being living to whom I would sue for friendship. If I were starving for a kind word, I would sooner die than ask for one. You see, I am proud too, Miss Challoner."
       "Oh, I did not mean to hurt you," returned Phillis, distressed at this, but determined not to yield an inch or bend to the sudden caprice of this extraordinary woman, who had made her suffer so once.
       "To be hurt, one must have feelings," returned this singular person. "Do not be afraid, I shall not attempt to shake your resolution: if you come to me now it must be of your own free will."
       "And if I come, what then?" asked Phillis, standing very straight and stiff, for she would not be patronized.
       "If you come you will be welcome," returned Mrs. Cheyne; and then, with a grave inclination of the head, she swept out of the room. _
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Chapter 1. Five-O'clock Tea
Chapter 2. Dick Objects To The Mountains
Chapter 3. Mr. Mayne Makes Himself Disagreeable
Chapter 4. Dick's Fete
Chapter 5. "I Am Quite Sure Of Him"
Chapter 6. Mr. Trinder's Visit
Chapter 7. Phillis's Catechism
Chapter 8. "We Should Have To Carry Parcels"
Chapter 9. A Long Day
Chapter 10. The Friary
Chapter 11. "Tell Us All About It, Nan"
Chapter 12. "Laddie" Puts In An Appearance
Chapter 13. "I Must Have Grace"
Chapter 14. "You Can Dare To Tell Me These Things"
Chapter 15. A Van In The Braidwood Road
Chapter 16. A Visit To The White House
Chapter 17. "A Friend In Need"
Chapter 18. Dorothy Brings In The Best China
Chapter 19. Archie Is In A Bad Humor
Chapter 20. "You Are Romantic"
Chapter 21. Breaking The Peace
Chapter 22. "Trimmings, Not Squails"
Chapter 23. "Bravo, Atalanta!"
Chapter 24. Mothers Are Mothers
Chapter 25. Mattie's New Dress
Chapter 26. "Oh, You Are Proud!"
Chapter 27. A Dark Hour
Chapter 28. The Mysterious Stranger
Chapter 29. Mrs. Williams's Lodger
Chapter 30. "Now We Understand Each Other"
Chapter 31. Dick Thinks Of The City
Chapter 32. "Dick Is To Be Our Real Brother"
Chapter 33. "This Is Life And Death To Me"
Chapter 34. Miss Mewlstone Has An Interruption
Chapter 35. "Barby, Don't You Recollect Me?"
Chapter 36. Motes In The Sunshine
Chapter 37. "A Man Has A Right To His Own Thoughts"
Chapter 38. About Nothing Particular
Chapter 39. "How Do You Do, Aunt Catherine?"
Chapter 40. Alcides
Chapter 41. Sir Harry Bides His Time
Chapter 42. "Come, Now, I Call That Hard"
Chapter 43. "I Will Write No Such Letter"
Chapter 44. Mr. Mayne Orders A Basin Of Gruel
Chapter 45. An Uninvited Guest
Chapter 46. A New Invasion Of The Goths
Chapter 47. "It Was So Good Of You To Ask Me Here"
Chapter 48. Mrs. Sparsit's Poodle
Chapter 49. Mattie In A New Character
Chapter 50. Phillis's Favorite Month