The Adventures of an Ugly Girl. Mrs. George Corbett
spoken directly to me, and whenever my eyes wandered in her direction, I could see that her glance was very critical, but I could not be sure that it was quite so disapproving as I had expected. Yet, although I neither spoke, nor was spoken to, there was no constraint between the others, for my father and Lady Courtney were both good conversationalists, and Belle could chatter by the hour, provided the talk was kept at a suitably frivolous level. Jerry, after being petted and praised a little, had been sent to bed primed with a quartet of kisses, and jubilant in the possession of a bright sovereign which papa had given to him in honor of the advent of a new mistress at Courtney Grange.
“Belle, dear, suppose you play us one of your pretty pieces,” said my father. Whereupon I vacated the music-stool, and took refuge near the big oriel window which overlooked the orchard, and which was my especial delight. For it was like a small room in itself, and I did not feel quite so lost among its cozy, faded draperies as I did in any other part of our drawing-room, which always seemed to me to be much too large for the furniture that was in it. Belle, after a great deal of fidgeting and looking round at herself, to make sure that her dress was falling in graceful folds, struck a few chords on what had been a very fine piano in its day, but which even I, who was partial to all that had belonged to my mother, was compelled to admit was getting out of date.
“I really don’t like to let you hear me for the first time on an old instrument like this, Lady Elizabeth,” said Belle. “If my music strikes you disagreeably, pray make all due allowance for the difficulties under which I labor.”
“Pray don’t apologize, my dear,” answered Lady Elizabeth. “I know how to separate the faults of the instrument from those of the player, and the quality of the piano need not trouble you long, as in all probability a grand of my own will be here in a day or two.”
“How delightful!” exclaimed Belle, and then she proceeded to give us a specimen of the skill which, times without number, I had been advised to emulate. She played “The Rippling Cascade” in a style that was faultless as regards time and precision, following it up with “The Musical Box.” But her playing was utterly devoid of expression. Pathos, tenderness, power, fire, were all unknown musical quantities to her, as they are, alas! to numbers of other conventional players; and whether it was “Home, Sweet Home,” or “The Soldier’s Chorus,” each and everything was played with the same clock-work insensibility to all the laws of expression. I watched Lady Elizabeth narrowly, as she listened to Belle’s efforts in the musical line, and (shall I own it?) I was maliciously glad to notice a distinctly bored expression steal across her features. There was one thing in which I could excel my usually all-conquering sister, of which the lady whom we both desired to please was evidently a judge, and I could not help rejoicing in the fact that I was not quite weaponless in the fight for favor, though I had certainly done anything but shine so far.
“What do you think of Belle’s performance?” asked my father, either forgetful of my presence, or not caring whether I overheard the conversation or not. Lady Elizabeth’s reply, though given in a low tone, and under cover of the music, reached my ears quite distinctly.
“She is just a trifle disappointing there, Gerald. I should imagine your younger daughter, Dora, to be much the better artist of the two. She seems to be a trifle wild and ungovernable, but would, I think, be amenable to reason, with judicious handling.”
“My dear Elizabeth, you don’t know her yet. Wait until you have seen more of her, and then you will agree with me that she is more than trying. Indeed, she is positively exasperating at times. Belle always has some complaint to make of her, and I am not surprised that this should be so, for it is a matter of impossibility to make her either look or act like a lady. No one would dream that she was a Courtney.”
Often and often I had felt my heart ache at the neglect and carelessness with which my father had always treated me, and I had grieved bitterly at the lack of outward comeliness which seemed to be the passport to his affection. But that he was actually so devoid of parental feeling as to show himself positively antipathetic to me had never occurred to me. Now, as I heard him saying things which must make me almost hateful in Lady Elizabeth’s eyes, I felt myself harden toward him, and the love which I had hitherto cherished for him fell from me like a worn-out mantle. What! oh, what had I ever done that he should do that which presumably only my bitterest enemy would do to me? Why should he try to prejudice me in the eyes of his wife? Had he no remembrance of the mother who loved me with a love equal to that which she bore for himself and his happier children? Was he quite forgetful of all the little efforts I had always made to increase his comfort? Did he really regard me as quite removed from the sphere of a lady, because I had worked hard, and made my hands red and unsightly, ever since I had realized how difficult it was for Martha and John to manage our big house efficiently without assistance? I, in my blindness, had hoped that he would commend me for my industrious habits, and it was a bitter awakening to discover that he only rated me on a par with, perhaps, a scullery maid.
I could feel my eyes begin to gain the fire they usually lacked, and the hot blood suffused my cheeks as I sat trembling with anger, and fighting madly to prevent myself from uttering the reproaches that forced themselves to my lips. It would be well, I thought, to keep quiet until the end of the play, and hear the verdict which Lady Elizabeth would pronounce upon me. I therefore listened for her answer with tightly clasped hands and motionless form, but with my attention strained to the utmost, Belle having meanwhile reached the most flourishy part of “Household Harmonies.”
“Do you think it quite fair to the child,” said my stepmother, “to give implicit credence to what one sister says to the detriment of the other, without giving the latter a chance to defend herself? Do not imagine for a moment I have a thought of reproaching you. But I cannot help contrasting the love and admiration you so openly display for Belle with the coldness and actual displeasure with which you look at Dora. May not this have much to do with the girl’s presumably bad temper and gauché manners? You see, I want to make the best of all belonging to you, Gerald, and I am inclined to think that there is more in your younger daughter than you have given her credit for.”
“I should be only too glad to discover a single good quality in Dora,” replied my affectionate father. “But I repeat that she is really hopeless, and assure you, for your own future guidance, that her disposition is on a par with her looks, than which nothing could very well be more disappointing, considering the fact that she is the offspring of a house which for generations has been famous for its beauty.”
“But a beautiful body does not invariably hold a beautiful mind, and of course the obverse rule holds good. The fact is, I am not sure that I have not taken a fancy to Dora. I have an idea that she is a girl of great possibilities, under judicious management. Certainly, appearances are against her at present, but appearances are but very circumstantial evidence at best.”
“And how do you get over her rudeness to you on your arrival?”
“You mean her failure to meet me at the door?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I rather fancy that if I had been in her place I should have done the same. It is bad enough to be such a contrast in looks to her handsome sister, without having her plainness accentuated and aggravated by the most unbecoming attire that could possibly have been procured for her. Belle is beautifully dressed, and Dora’s frock is simply hideous. Her hair, too, is plastered down in as ugly a fashion as possible. I mean to alter all that, and the result will astonish you, I am sure.”
By this time Belle had noticed that she had an unappreciative audience, and was closing the piano, contriving to display, as she did so, a certain amount of well-bred annoyance, as I knew instinctively without looking at her, so well was I used to her little ways. Lady Elizabeth smiled pleasantly and said, “Thank you, my dear.” My father, considerably to Belle’s own wonderment, appeared quite oblivious of her beautiful presence, a thing she had never had to complain of before. He looked like a man suddenly confronted with a new and mysterious riddle, and as if he were not sure whether he ought not to doubt the sanity of any one who could deliberately say anything in favor of me. True, old Martha and her husband were sometimes quite ungrudging of their commendation, after I had been specially useful to them. But they were only