stop off with Mary on his way to the Hall and didn’t want him to find her lacking in propriety. The painting that day was decorous to the point of ennui for two of the three. Idle was completely absorbed in his work.
At four-thirty the sound of a carriage was heard in the driveway, and soon Mary and Miss Harvey peeped over the bushes, with Haldiman behind them.
As soon as the greetings were done, Mary burst into excited speech. “I got blue crepe for Haldiman’s ball, Mama, and Betsy bought pink. We’re going to have Miss Bracken make us up gowns in the same style. Betsy says it is all the crack in Canada for sisters to dress alike. We had lunch at the Fife and Drum with Haldiman. Betsy said she never tasted such tough meat, like tanned leather. In America they roast a whole cow on a spit.”
“How elegant,” Sir Swithin said, “like the Hottentots in Africa.” He stuck his brush into the turpentine. “You may step down, Sara. Enough painting for one day.”
Miss Harvey went to observe the painting and gave a snort of laughter. “I would give Sir Swithin a good Bear Garden jaw if I were you, Miss Wood,” she told Sara. “He has turned you into the prow of an old Viking vessel. What a wooden face and looking as grim as death.”
Swithin examined his painting. “The lips require a little work; as to the rest of your criticism, Miss Harvey, I was trying for a rigid quality. Miss Wood is in a pensive mood, you see, reflecting on eternity. Some ladies do cease their idle chatter, from time to time—in England, I mean. May I see the crepe?”
“If that is merely a smart way of telling me I am a chatterbox,” Miss Harvey said, “you are wasting your breath, Sir Swithin. I know it already, but you are a fine pot to be calling the kettle black, you old clapper jaw.” She laughed merrily at her rejoinder.
“What do you want to see the crepe for?” Mary asked him.
“I am interested in fabrics.”
Miss Harvey’s snicker sounded like “man milliner,” but Mary distracted the group by producing her fabric for Idle’s examination. “It will do well enough for an ingénue,” he decided, and reached for Miss Harvey’s.
“Pink? Pink for a lady your age—and of your ruddy complexion, my dear?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “It would make a lively Sunday frock for a child. I would have thought a mint green or celestial blue, to tone down those apple cheeks ... No matter, it will suit your bucolic coiffure.” On this dismissing phrase he turned to Mrs. Wood and said, “Some liquid refreshment, perhaps?”
Betsy narrowed her eyes at his violet smock and said, “A pity I don’t have your fine discerning eye for colors.”
Haldiman, embarrassed for her, added, “I must share the blame, Idle. I advised Betsy.”
“So I assumed,” Idle remarked vaguely.
Wine was called for in honor of Lord Haldiman, who would have preferred ale, and in the interest of restoring harmony Mrs. Wood said, “How did you like our village, Miss Harvey?”
“I liked it enormously. The church is so sweet and ancient. I said to Mary I was afraid the roof might tumble in on our heads, didn’t I, Mary? I swear the parson must have been here since the flood. He insisted on showing me around, so kind of him. He called me Mistress Harvey. ‘I’m nobody’s mistress, sir,’ I told him. That made him look sharp.”
“I warrant it did,” Sir Swithin smiled benignly, and goaded her on to further solecisms. “What did you think of the shops?”
“There is only one worth the name as far as I could see. It was ever so amusing. I do pity you poor ladies, having to buy your wares in that dinky little everything store. Mind you, the buttons were lovely. I bought a dozen of pearl and some jet beads to take home for Mama. Lovely wine, Mrs. Wood,” she added aside to her hostess.
“Thank you.”
“Not so sour as what they serve at the Hall. I like a good glass of cider myself on a hot day. Mind you, we wouldn’t
At four-thirty the sound of a carriage was heard in the driveway, and soon Mary and Miss Harvey peeped over the bushes, with Haldiman behind them.
As soon as the greetings were done, Mary burst into excited speech. “I got blue crepe for Haldiman’s ball, Mama, and Betsy bought pink. We’re going to have Miss Bracken make us up gowns in the same style. Betsy says it is all the crack in Canada for sisters to dress alike. We had lunch at the Fife and Drum with Haldiman. Betsy said she never tasted such tough meat, like tanned leather. In America they roast a whole cow on a spit.”
“How elegant,” Sir Swithin said, “like the Hottentots in Africa.” He stuck his brush into the turpentine. “You may step down, Sara. Enough painting for one day.”
Miss Harvey went to observe the painting and gave a snort of laughter. “I would give Sir Swithin a good Bear Garden jaw if I were you, Miss Wood,” she told Sara. “He has turned you into the prow of an old Viking vessel. What a wooden face and looking as grim as death.”
Swithin examined his painting. “The lips require a little work; as to the rest of your criticism, Miss Harvey, I was trying for a rigid quality. Miss Wood is in a pensive mood, you see, reflecting on eternity. Some ladies do cease their idle chatter, from time to time—in England, I mean. May I see the crepe?”
“If that is merely a smart way of telling me I am a chatterbox,” Miss Harvey said, “you are wasting your breath, Sir Swithin. I know it already, but you are a fine pot to be calling the kettle black, you old clapper jaw.” She laughed merrily at her rejoinder.
“What do you want to see the crepe for?” Mary asked him.
“I am interested in fabrics.”
Miss Harvey’s snicker sounded like “man milliner,” but Mary distracted the group by producing her fabric for Idle’s examination. “It will do well enough for an ingénue,” he decided, and reached for Miss Harvey’s.
“Pink? Pink for a lady your age—and of your ruddy complexion, my dear?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “It would make a lively Sunday frock for a child. I would have thought a mint green or celestial blue, to tone down those apple cheeks ... No matter, it will suit your bucolic coiffure.” On this dismissing phrase he turned to Mrs. Wood and said, “Some liquid refreshment, perhaps?”
Betsy narrowed her eyes at his violet smock and said, “A pity I don’t have your fine discerning eye for colors.”
Haldiman, embarrassed for her, added, “I must share the blame, Idle. I advised Betsy.”
“So I assumed,” Idle remarked vaguely.
Wine was called for in honor of Lord Haldiman, who would have preferred ale, and in the interest of restoring harmony Mrs. Wood said, “How did you like our village, Miss Harvey?”
“I liked it enormously. The church is so sweet and ancient. I said to Mary I was afraid the roof might tumble in on our heads, didn’t I, Mary? I swear the parson must have been here since the flood. He insisted on showing me around, so kind of him. He called me Mistress Harvey. ‘I’m nobody’s mistress, sir,’ I told him. That made him look sharp.”
“I warrant it did,” Sir Swithin smiled benignly, and goaded her on to further solecisms. “What did you think of the shops?”
“There is only one worth the name as far as I could see. It was ever so amusing. I do pity you poor ladies, having to buy your wares in that dinky little everything store. Mind you, the buttons were lovely. I bought a dozen of pearl and some jet beads to take home for Mama. Lovely wine, Mrs. Wood,” she added aside to her hostess.
“Thank you.”
“Not so sour as what they serve at the Hall. I like a good glass of cider myself on a hot day. Mind you, we wouldn’t
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