The Buccaneers by Edith Wharton Page A

an hour later Miss Testvalley, her thick hair re-braided and glossed with brilliantine, her black merino exchanged for a plum-coloured silk with a crochet lace collar, and lace mittens on her small worn hands, knocked at the door of the Misses St. George. It opened, and the governess gave a little “Oh!” of surprise. Virginia stood there, a shimmer of ruffled white drooping away from her young throat and shoulders. On her heaped-up wheat-coloured hair lay a wreath of corn-flowers; and a black velvet ribbon with a locket hanging from it intensified her fairness like the black stripe on a ring-dove’s throat.
    â€œWhat elegance for a public dining-room!” thought Miss Testvalley; and then reflected: “But no doubt it’s her only chance of showing it.”
    Virginia opened wondering blue eyes, and the governess explained: “The supper-bell has rung, and I thought you and your sister might like me to go down with you.”
    â€œOh—” Virginia murmured; and added: “Nan’s lost her slipper. She’s hunting for it.”
    â€œVery well; shall I help her? And you’ll go down and excuse us to your mamma?”
    Virginia’s eyes grew wider. “Well, I guess Mother’s used to waiting,” she said, as she sauntered along the corridor to the staircase.
    Nan St. George lay face downward on the floor, poking with a silk parasol under the wardrobe. At the sound of Miss Testvalley’s voice she raised herself sulkily. Her small face was flushed and frowning. (“None of her sister’s beauty,” Miss Testvalley thought.) “It’s there, but I can’t get at it,” Nan proclaimed.
    â€œMy dear, you’ll tumble your lovely frock—”
    â€œOh, it’s not lovely. It’s one of Jinny’s last-year’s organdies.”
    â€œWell, it won’t improve it to crawl about on the floor. Is your shoe under the wardrobe? Let me try to get it. My silk won’t be damaged.”
    Miss Testvalley put out her hand for the sunshade, and Nan scrambled to her feet. “You can’t reach it,” she said, still sulkily. But Miss Testvalley, prostrate on the floor, had managed to push a thin arm under the wardrobe, and the parasol presently reappeared with a little bronze slipper on its tip. Nan gave a laugh.
    â€œWell, you are handy!” she said.
    Miss Testvalley echoed the laugh. “Put it on quickly, and let me help you to tidy your dress. And, oh dear, your sash is untied—” She spun the girl about, re-tied the sash, and smoothed the skirt with airy touches; for all of which, she noticed, Nan uttered no word of thanks.
    â€œAnd your handkerchief, Annabel?” In Miss Testvalley’s opinion no lady should appear in the evening without a scrap of lace-edged cambric, folded into a triangle and held between gloved or mittened finger-tips. Nan shrugged. “I never know where my handkerchiefs are—I guess they get lost in the wash, wandering round in hotels the way we do.”
    Miss Testvalley sighed at this nomadic wastefulness. Perhaps because she had always been a wanderer herself, she loved orderly drawers and shelves, and bunches of lavender between delicately fluted under-garments.
    â€œDo you always live in hotels, my dear?”
    â€œWe did when I was little. But Father’s bought a house in New York now. Mother made him do it, because the Elmsworths did. She thought maybe, if we had one, Jinny’d be invited out more; but I don’t see much difference.”
    â€œWell, I shall have to help you to go over your linen,” the governess continued; but Nan showed no interest in the offer. Miss Testvalley saw before her a cold impatient little face—and yet...
    â€œAnnabel,” she said, slipping her hand through the girl’s thin arm, “how did you guess I was fond of flowers?”
    The blood rose from Nan’s shoulders to her cheeks, and a half-guilty smile