Anne of Windy Poplars - L. M. Montgomery [43]
14
On Saturday morning Anne was at the Gibson house bright and early. Anne always looked her best on a sparkling summer morning such as this. She seemed to sparkle with it, and she moved through the golden air like a slender figure from a Grecian urn. The dullest room sparkled too – lived – when she came into it.
‘Walking as if you owned the earth,’ commented Mrs Gibson sarcastically.
‘So I do,’ said Anne gaily.
‘Ah, you’re very young,’ said Mrs Gibson maddeningly.
‘ “I withheld not my heart from any joy,”’ quoted Anne. ‘That is Bible authority for you, Mrs Gibson.’
‘ “Man is born into trouble, as the sparks fly upward.” That’s in the Bible too,’ retorted Mrs Gibson. The fact that she had so neatly countered Miss Shirley, B.A., put her in comparatively good humour. ‘I never was one to flatter, Miss Shirley, but that chip hat of yours with the blue flower kind of suits you. Your hair don’t look so red under it, seems to me. Don’t you admire a fresh young girl like this, Pauline? Wouldn’t you like to be a fresh young girl yourself, Pauline?’
Pauline was too happy and excited to want to be anyone but herself just then. Anne went to the upstairs room with her to help her dress.
‘It’s so lovely to think of all the pleasant things that must happen today, Miss Shirley. My throat is quite well, and Ma is in such a good humour. You mightn’t think so, but I know she is, because she is talking, even if she is sarcastic. If she was mad or riled she’d be sulking. I’ve peeled the potatoes, and the steak is in the ice-box, and Ma’s blancmange is down cellar. There’s canned chicken for supper and a sponge cake in the pantry. I’m just on tenterhooks Ma’ll change her mind yet. I couldn’t bear it if she did. Oh, Miss Shirley, do you think I’d better wear that grey dress, really?’
‘Put it on!’ said Anne, in her best school-teacherish manner.
Pauline obeyed, and emerged a transformed Pauline. The grey dress fitted her beautifully. It was collarless, and had dainty lace ruffles on the elbow-sleeves. When Anne had done her hair Pauline hardly knew herself.
‘I hate to cover it up with that horrid old black taffeta, Miss Shirley.’
But it had to be. The taffeta covered it very securely. The old hat went on – but it would be taken off too when she got to Louisa’s – and Pauline had a new pair of shoes. Mrs Gibson had actually allowed her to get a new pair of shoes, though she thought the heels ‘scandalous high’.
‘I’ll make quite a sensation going away on the train alone. I hope people won’t think it’s a death. I wouldn’t want Louisa’s silver wedding to be connected in any way with the thought of death… Oh, perfume, Miss Shirley! Apple-blossom! Isn’t that lovely? Just a whiff… So ladylike, I always think. Ma won’t ever let me buy any. Oh, Miss Shirley, you won’t forget to feed my dog, will you? I’ve left his bones in the pantry in the covered dish. I do hope’ – dropping her voice to a shamed whisper – ‘that he won’t – misbehave – in the house while you’re here.’
Pauline had to pass her mother’s inspection before leaving. Excitement over her outing and guilt in regard to the hidden poplin combined to give her a very unusual flush. Mrs Gibson gazed at her discontentedly.
‘Oh, me! Oh, my! Going to London to look at the Queen, are we? You’ve got too much colour. People will think you’re painted. Are you sure you ain’t?’
‘Oh, no, Ma! No!’ – in shocked tones.
‘Mind your manners, now, and when you set down cross your ankles decently. Mind you don’t set in a draught or talk too much.’
‘I won’t, Ma,’ promised Pauline earnestly, with a nervous glance at the clock.
‘I’m sending Louisa a bottle of my sarsaparilla wine to drink the toasts in. I never cared for Louisa, but her mother was a Tackaberry. Mind you bring back the bottle, and don’t let her give you a kitten. Louisa’s always giving people kittens.’
‘I won’t, Ma.’
‘You’re sure you didn’t leave the soap in the water?’
‘Quite sure, Ma’ – with another anguished glance at the clock.
‘Are your