The Adventures of an Ugly Girl. Mrs. George Corbett
I had had a vague notion that if she were comparatively plain she would the more easily sympathize with my troubles, into which no one in the house except Jerry seemed able to enter. Now my hopes in that direction were upset, and I already knew instinctively that my own absence was being commented upon. I saw my father, the very picture of masculine comeliness, glance up at my window with an angry frown, and I knew almost as well as if I had been present what Belle and Jerry were saying about me.
After all, I thought, I had been very foolish to let Belle’s ill-nature and my own ill-temper spoil my resolve to make Lady Elizabeth’s home-coming as pleasant as possible. Apart from looks, my remaining upstairs would have already made me lose ground with my stepmother. Was it too late, I wondered, to rectify my error, and make my appearance before dinner was served? Answering the question in the negative, I resolved to complete my toilet as quickly as possible, and get over the ordeal of the first meeting without further loss of time.
So I began operations at once, wondering, while I brushed my hair, how it was that I was so different to Jerry and Belle. I pulled faces at my own ugly reflection in the glass, but as that only seemed to make matters worse, I desisted. But I could not banish the discontent which enhanced my ugliness, and made it almost perfect in its own way. Why was I so short and dumpy? I asked myself vainly. And why was my hair so black, and lank, and scanty? And how was it that my complexion was more like Thames mud than anything else? And why was my face covered with freckles? These freckles I always felt to be an especial aggravation of nature; for whoever heard of freckles on a dark, sallow skin? And then, how did it happen that my eyes were of a pale watery-brown hue, while I had hardly got either eyelashes or eyebrows that were visible? And why, oh, why! had my nose got that exasperating habit of looking skyward?
Even as I asked these questions of myself, I felt how hopeless it was to attempt to answer them. So I abandoned them and tried to console myself with the reflection that my mouth was well-shaped and that I had splendid teeth. But then my great red hands obtruded themselves upon my notice, and blotted out all consciousness of my redeeming features. I took considerable pains with my hair, and put on my best dress. Alas! the latter was of a curious brown shade which somehow only seemed to enhance my ugliness. Belle was dressed in a dainty pink cambric; but I was never allowed such a luxury, as it was considered that I was too untidy, and too plain, and altogether too unsuitable to indulge in pretty things. Besides, we had to be economical, and as I could never hope to captivate a lover, no matter how I was dressed, it would have been a shame to waste money upon my futile adornment. So Belle argued, and I had hitherto had no choice but to bow to her arguments.
I was at last ready to go downstairs, when once more Jerry came to look me up.
“Oh, you’re donned up, are you?” he remarked. “And, upon my word, you’re looking quite spry.”
But I was not to be soothed by such negative flattery as this, and sternly asked Jerry what he meant by “looking quite spry.”
“Why, spry, you know, spry means—at least, I mean—that you look as if you were going to a prayer meeting; that is, you look so prim, and tidy, and straight. But, Dorrie, dear, I like you far better as you were this morning, and as you generally are. You look real jolly then.”
Saying this, Jerry kissed me warmly, and I forthwith resigned myself to the hopelessness of attempting to improve my appearance. This morning I had worn an old lilac print that had originally been made for Belle. It was faded with much washing, and possessed sundry little adornments in the way of frayed edges and sleeves out at elbows. Truly, Belle had been right, after all, and it was sheer folly on my part to rebel against fate, since neither coaxing nor rebelling seemed to propitiate her. Seeing, therefore, how stern and uncompromising she was with me, I resolved to take less notice of her in future, and had no sooner made the resolve than I began to feel peaceful and self-possessed. What if the gift of beauty was denied me, had I not many other blessings to be thankful for? In all my seventeen years of life I had never had anything but the most robust health, and if my school record was anything to go by, I possessed a much more valuable property in the way of brains than Belle did. These should outweigh my physical defects, and prove my passport to the world’s good graces.
I dare say Jerry was rather surprised to see me suddenly straighten myself up, and assume a much more cheerful expression.
“What is Lady Elizabeth like?” I asked.
“Looks?”
“No, ways.”
“Well, I take her to be rather a brick, do you know. She was as pleasant and as much at home with Belle and me as if she had lived here all her life and had just been off for a holiday. She thinks we are just like pa, and that is high praise, I should fancy.”
“Very high praise, Jerry. I wonder what she’ll say about me. But it doesn’t matter. Is dinner nearly served?”
“Yes; but John was grumbling because you hadn’t helped to see that the table was all right, as you had promised to do.”
“Oh! Poor John. It was a shame of me to forget all about him. I’ll hurry down now and see what I can do. Come on, Jerry.”
A minute later we were both skipping nimbly downstairs, and while Jerry, at my earnest request, ran round to the stable to see how my bull-terrier, Bobby, was progressing, I ran into the kitchen to make my peace with John and Martha. As Martha was somewhat sulky, and protested that they had managed very well without me, I made my way to the dining-room, and began swiftly to re-arrange the flowers which I had culled for the table earlier in the day. John looked rather scandalized, and remarked that he thought he knew how to arrange a table as well as most folks. But I did not heed John’s grumbling much, for it was his chronic condition, and I had just completed my little task to my own satisfaction when John rang the second dinner-bell, the first not having been noticed by me.
Just then Jerry came back.
“Bobby will be all right in a day,” he said, whereat I expressed my satisfaction, for I had been greatly troubled when poor Bobby had come limping home with every sign of war about him.
“And, oh!” I said, with sudden remembrance, “what has been done with the wonderful carriage and pair, and those gorgeous servants?”
“They went straight home. They belong to the earl. He sent them to meet Lady Elizabeth at the station. Her own carriages are coming after she has seen what arrangements it will be best to make here. I fancy she doesn’t like the place very much.”
“Not like the Grange?” I exclaimed indignantly. “Why, she must be a veritable heathen—”
“Dora, I regret that you should think fit to behave so badly, but must demand a little of your attention, while I introduce you to the notice of Lady Elizabeth Courtney.”
Was ever luck like mine? Here had I quite lost sight of the fact that my father and his wife might enter the room at any time, and they had actually overheard me speak in tones of contempt of the one woman on earth whom I wished to propitiate! I turned hurriedly round, and saw my father, looking very irate, Lady Elizabeth, looking coldly critical, and Belle, looking ill-naturedly triumphant.
“I beg your pardon, papa. I did not mean it,” I stammered.
“No, I do not suppose you did mean us to overhear you,” he replied sternly. “But I have no doubt that you had resolved to be intensely disagreeable, and I tell you plainly that I will not have it. You see, my love,” he said, turning to his wife, “you will have a little temper and self-will to deal with, but I am sure you will know how to compel it to keep within due bounds.”
What could I do or say after that? Nothing, of course, and I sat miserably through the whole meal, while all but Jerry laughed and talked as if quite unconscious of my presence. I would fain have escaped to my own room when the dinner was over. But my father had taken it into his head that I merely wanted to be obstinate and disagreeable, and suggested that I should spend an hour in the drawing-room. I accordingly took refuge at the piano. But my music was so melancholy that I am not surprised that I was asked to desist, for, when you come to think of it, “Killigrew’s Lament,” and “The Dead March in Saul,”