2. FOUR O'CLOCK
1250 Words
2. FOUR O'CLOCKThe direct blaze of the afternoon sun, partly refracted through
the crimson curtains of the window, and heightened by reflections
from the crimson-flock paper which covered the walls, and a carpet
on the floor of the same tint, shone with a burning glow round the
form of a lady standing close to Cytherea's front with the door in
her hand. The stranger appeared to the maiden's eyes—fresh from the
blue gloom, and assisted by an imagination fresh from nature—like a
tall black figure standing in the midst of fire. It was the figure
of a finely-built woman, of spare though not angular
proportions.
Cytherea involuntarily shaded her eyes with her hand, retreated
a step or two, and then she could for the first time see Miss
Aldclyffe's face in addition to her outline, lit up by the
secondary and softer light that was reflected from the varnished
panels of the door. She was not a very young woman, but could boast
of much beauty of the majestic autumnal phase.
'O,' said the lady, 'come this way.' Cytherea followed her to
the embrasure of the window.
Both the women showed off themselves to advantage as they walked
forward in the orange light; and each showed too in her face that
she had been struck with her companion's appearance. The warm tint
added to Cytherea's face a voluptuousness which youth and a simple
life had not yet allowed to express itself there ordinarily; whilst
in the elder lady's face it reduced the customary expression, which
might have been called sternness, if not harshness, to grandeur,
and warmed her decaying complexion with much of the youthful
richness it plainly had once possessed.
She appeared now no more than five-and-thirty, though she might
easily have been ten or a dozen years older. She had clear steady
eyes, a Roman nose in its purest form, and also the round prominent
chin with which the Caesars are represented in ancient marbles; a
mouth expressing a capability for and tendency to strong emotion,
habitually controlled by pride. There was a severity about the
lower outlines of the face which gave a masculine cast to this
portion of her countenance. Womanly weakness was nowhere visible
save in one part—the curve of her forehead and brows—there it was
clear and emphatic. She wore a lace shawl over a brown silk dress,
and a net bonnet set with a few blue cornflowers.
'You inserted the advertisement for a situation as lady's-maid
giving the address, G., Cross Street?'
'Yes, madam. Graye.'
'Yes. I have heard your name—Mrs. Morris, my housekeeper,
mentioned you, and pointed out your advertisement.'
This was puzzling intelligence, but there was not time enough to
consider it.
'Where did you live last?' continued Miss Aldclyffe.
'I have never been a servant before. I lived at home.'
'Never been out? I thought too at sight of you that you were too
girlish-looking to have done much. But why did you advertise with
such assurance? It misleads people.'
'I am very sorry: I put "inexperienced" at first, but my brother
said it is absurd to trumpet your own weakness to the world, and
would not let it remain.'
'But your mother knew what was right, I suppose?'
'I have no mother, madam.'
'Your father, then?'
'I have no father.'
'Well,' she said, more softly, 'your sisters, aunts, or
cousins.'
'They didn't think anything about it.'
'You didn't ask them, I suppose.'
'No.'
'You should have done so, then. Why didn't you?'
'Because I haven't any of them, either.'
Miss Aldclyffe showed her surprise. 'You deserve forgiveness
then at any rate, child,' she said, in a sort of drily-kind tone.
'However, I am afraid you do not suit me, as I am looking for an
elderly person. You see, I want an experienced maid who knows all
the usual duties of the office.' She was going to add, 'Though I
like your appearance,' but the words seemed offensive to apply to
the ladylike girl before her, and she modified them to, 'though I
like you much.'
'I am sorry I misled you, madam,' said Cytherea.
Miss Aldclyffe stood in a reverie, without replying.
'Good afternoon,' continued Cytherea.
'Good-bye, Miss Graye—I hope you will succeed.'
Cytherea turned away towards the door. The movement chanced to
be one of her masterpieces. It was precise: it had as much beauty
as was compatible with precision, and as little coquettishness as
was compatible with beauty.
And she had in turning looked over her shoulder at the other
lady with a faint accent of reproach in her face. Those who
remember Greuze's 'Head of a Girl,' have an idea of Cytherea's look
askance at the turning. It is not for a man to tell fishers of men
how to set out their fascinations so as to bring about the highest
possible average of takes within the year: but the action that tugs
the hardest of all at an emotional beholder is this sweet method of
turning which steals the bosom away and leaves the eyes behind.
Now Miss Aldclyffe herself was no tyro at wheeling. When
Cytherea had closed the door upon her, she remained for some time
in her motionless attitude, listening to the gradually dying sound
of the maiden's retreating footsteps. She murmured to herself, 'It
is almost worth while to be bored with instructing her in order to
have a creature who could glide round my luxurious indolent body in
that manner, and look at me in that way—I warrant how light her
fingers are upon one's head and neck… . What a silly modest young
thing she is, to go away so suddenly as that!' She rang the
bell.
'Ask the young lady who has just left me to step back again,'
she said to the attendant. 'Quick! or she will be gone.'
Cytherea was now in the vestibule, thinking that if she had told
her history, Miss Aldclyffe might perhaps have taken her into the
household; yet her history she particularly wished to conceal from
a stranger. When she was recalled she turned back without feeling
much surprise. Something, she knew not what, told her she had not
seen the last of Miss Aldclyffe.
'You have somebody to refer me to, of course,' the lady said,
when Cytherea had re-entered the room.
'Yes: Mr. Thorn, a solicitor at Aldbrickham.'
'And are you a clever needlewoman?'
'I am considered to be.'
'Then I think that at any rate I will write to Mr. Thorn,' said
Miss Aldclyffe, with a little smile. 'It is true, the whole
proceeding is very irregular; but my present maid leaves next
Monday, and neither of the five I have already seen seem to do for
me… . Well, I will write to Mr. Thorn, and if his reply is
satisfactory, you shall hear from me. It will be as well to set
yourself in readiness to come on Monday.'
When Cytherea had again been watched out of the room, Miss
Aldclyffe asked for writing materials, that she might at once
communicate with Mr. Thorn. She indecisively played with the pen.
'Suppose Mr. Thorn's reply to be in any way disheartening—and even
if so from his own imperfect acquaintance with the young creature
more than from circumstantial knowledge—I shall feel obliged to
give her up. Then I shall regret that I did not give her one trial
in spite of other people's prejudices. All her account of herself
is reliable enough—yes, I can see that by her face. I like that
face of hers.'
Miss Aldclyffe put down the pen and left the hotel without
writing to Mr. Thorn.
Chapter 5
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY
- Writer
