IV



When the young ladies at the Manor House did not get their dresses
from London, a dressmaker came from Brighton to help them, and all
together they sat sewing and chattering in the work-room. Maggie would
take a bow or a flower, and moving it quickly, guided by the instinct
of a bird building its nest, would find the place where it decorated
the hat or bonnet best. Neither Sally nor Grace could do this, nor
could they drape a skirt or fit a bodice, but they could work well and
enjoy their work. But what they enjoyed more was the opportunity these
working days afforded for gossip. Mrs. Wood had the Brighton scandal
at her tongue's tip, and what she would not tell, her niece told them
when her aunt left the room. Secrecy was enjoined, but sometimes they
forgot, and in Mrs. Wood's presence alluded too pointedly to stories
that had not yet found their way beyond the precincts of the servants'
hall, and then the dressmaker raised her mild eyes, and looked through
large spectacles at Susan, who sat biting her lips. Susan told the
young ladies of her love affairs; they told Susan of theirs; and the
different codes of etiquette gave added zest to the anecdotes, in
themselves interesting. The story of the young man who had said, "I am
afraid that parcel is too heavy for you, miss," and had been promised
a walk in the twilight on the cliff, evoked visions of liberty, and
the story of the officer at the Henfield ball, with whom Sally had
discovered a room that none knew of, did not fail to impress the