CHAPTER XII.

GWEN'S POSSESSIONS.

"NONE of these are fit to wear. They can be given away at once," said Lady Halcot decisively.

Gwendoline had passed a night in her new home, and had risen refreshed, despite some wakeful periods of restless thought. It seemed to her already a very long time since she had come to this place. That less than twenty hours of her residence at the Leys had yet elapsed was inconceivable.

She had made acquaintance with the massive building, reared in far back days by Lady Halcot's forefathers, passing through rooms and ante-chambers and corridors, till mind and memory became confused. She had gone the round of the stiff ancestral portraits in the state dining-room, privately wondering which might be termed the ugliest; for the Halcots were by no means a handsome race. She had stood in the library, examining the rows of calf-bound volumes, hoping to be allowed free access to the same. She had had a glimpse of the wide-spreading gardens and extensive hothouses, and had paced one of the broad terraces, in full view of the blue ocean.

Also, Gwendoline had already won the hearts of two or three of the servants by her gentle manner of speaking, more especially the heart of Spurrell, the maid appointed to wait upon herself. She had made acquaintance with the pallid and mild-mannered Miss Withers, and had taken herself severely to task for an irresistible sense of distrust and almost aversion towards that placid individual. Miss Withers treated her with such marked and humble politeness! Why could not she like Miss Withers better? Moreover, she had seen the unfortunate Conrad, as usual spending half his day at the Leys, and as usual in difficulties. Conrad Withers did not live in the house, but he was expected to occupy a certain room during certain hours, and he received liberal remuneration for a small amount of toil. Miss Withers had set her heart on seeing him reside at the Leys, in the capacity of confidential secretary to her ladyship; but this aim was as yet far from being attained to. Lady Halcot endured him, and no more. Gwendoline had exchanged a few sentences with the young man, pitying his bashfulness, and Conrad's head was already turned.

Breakfast had been long ended, when Gwendoline Was summoned to her own room, there to find Lady Halcot and Spurrell, the whole of her small wardrobe having been spread out for inspection.

This room was one of the pleasantest parts of Gwendoline's new life, being large, yet not too large, with a sunshiny aspect, flowers without and within, choice engravings upon the walls, and abundant comfort in furniture and fittings-up. Opening into the bedroom was a small and pretty boudoir, with a davenport and easy-chair near the fireplace, and an easel in the bow-window. Gwendoline could not but be delighted with these surroundings, and grateful for the thoughtful care thus evidenced. She had passed on the whole a very pleasant morning. But it was something of a shock to her now to hear the decisive order, "All these may be given away."

Gwendoline said nothing, but her face protested eloquently. Lady Halcot gave her a careless glance, and continued, "The dress and bonnet that Miss Halcombe travelled in will do until she has others. These shoes can be made presentable with good rosettes, but really there is nothing else. You have the Halcot foot, I see, Gwendoline,—high-instepped. No evening dress, is there?"

"Mother said I ought to get one, but you told me to come exactly as I was," said Gwendoline.

"Quite right," said Lady Halcot. "Spurrell, you may fetch the hats and bonnets to try on."

Then, when the maid was gone, she repeated, "Quite right. I did not realize that you would not possess a single evening dress, but you did as I told you. That is simply what I expect, and what I shall expect."

The tone was not hard, but it lacked tenderness. Lady Halcot stood near the bed, a little shrunken figure, scarcely up to Gwendoline's shoulder, yet with an indefinable air of dignity and command about her small person. Gwendoline debated quickly in her mind what to say, and ended by saying nothing.

"That is what I expect of you," repeated Lady Halcot gravely. "Precisely the same implicit obedience that I would expect from a child of my own."

"I should be very sorry to go against your will in anything," Gwendoline said, her voice trembling slightly. "I will try to please you, indeed."

"Yes. I believe you are a good girl. If I had not thought so, I should not have been so ready to adopt you."

"A good girl," in Lady Halcot's phraseology, meant "a girl who will do as she is bidden." Gwendoline understood it so.

Lady Halcot turned as Spurrell re-entered, having an armful of bonnet-boxes. "I had these sent in readiness," she said. "There is a chip hat with an ostrich feather, which I believe will become you very well, Gwendoline. Spurrell will find it immediately. I am not so sure about the bonnets. You must try them on. The dressmaker will be here in an hour to take orders. I should wish you to have two evening dresses, one of a soft blue material, which will suit you nicely, and another of white, trimmed with pink. The blue will be for home evening wear, ordinarily. I had some idea of a black velvet and crimson walking-costume, but it is becoming too warm. I have chosen a pretty brown stuff for every-day wear, and you must have jacket and hat to match. The second walking-dress I have not yet decided on, but I am rather thinking of grey,—silk and other material mixed. When you are thoroughly well set up, I shall consider about giving you an allowance, but it is better that you should first learn something of my tastes. That is the hat, Spurrell. Put it on. Now look at yourself in the glass, Gwendoline. My foresight has proved true, I think. How do you like it?"

"It is very pretty, thank you," Gwendoline said.

"We will decide upon that, without hesitation. I don't like these bonnets, Spurrell. I fancied there were others."

"I may have overlooked a box, my lady. I will go and see."

Lady Halcot moved towards the bed. "Your little writing-case and work-bag are very shabby, Gwendoline. I will supply you with fresh ones immediately, and these can be sent away."

Gwendoline was startled. "If you please, may I not keep them?" she asked. "I have had them so long."

"That is the very thing. They are worn-out."

"But, Lady Halcot, my mother gave me the writing-case, and Ruth made the bag. May I keep them, please?"

"No," Lady Halcot said quietly; and she took both into her own hands.

"I will put them out of sight," pleaded Gwendoline.

Lady Halcot looked steadily at her, and repeated, "No."

"But they are mine!"

"That may be. And you are mine now."

Gwendoline had a hard struggle. Not sorrow only, but passion too rose high, for this seemed to her unnecessary and tyrannical. The cry of "Oh, help me, help me!" went up from her heart, and help came.

Lady Halcot, watching, saw the flush subside, and the face grow calm.

"Well?" she said.

"It must be as you wish," said Gwendoline, in a low voice. "One moment, please."

Lady Halcot yielded both into Gwendoline's outstretched hands. She would not have done so ordinarily. Gwendoline held them lovingly, pressed them to her lips, and then gave them back to Lady Halcot, two bright drops having fallen on the rubbed leather of the case.

"You are a silly child," Lady Halcot said, not in a tone of displeasure.

She left the room, and returned almost immediately, bearing a silk-lined work-basket and a beautiful little Russian leather writing-case, both furnished with silver and polished steel fittings.

"These were already waiting for you," she said.

Gwendoline received them with mingled pain and pleasure, touched, yet not quite comforted.