Mrs Days Daughters | Page 3

green satin, a head-dress of white lace, green velvet and pink roses almost covering her plentiful dark hair.
"Not in bed yet?" she whispered, and looked at the small white kneeling figure of the younger girl, her hair hanging in a dusky mass of waves and curls and tangles upon her back. Deleah was hurrying conscientiously through the established form of her orisons, trying to achieve the prescribed sum of her supplications before her mother left.
"Can I speak to you for a minute, mama?" Bess demanded, with an air of importance. "Not here," glancing at Deleah; "outside; just a minute."
"Pray God bless dear papa and mama, sister and brothers, and friends. Make us all good and bring us safe to heaven at last. Amen," Deleah gabbled, her face upon the white quilt, her ears open.
"Certainly, dear." Mrs. Day stepped back, closing the door behind her daughter and herself.
"I don't want Deda to know. She's such a blab, mama."
"Oh, my dear, I don't like to hear you say that!"
"But she is. And she listens to things." Here Bessie pushed the door behind her open, to reveal the culprit in her white nightgown on the other side of it. "I should be ashamed to be a Paul Pry!" Bessie said with indignation and scorn.
Deleah was not at all abashed. "Mama, I don't see why, when nice, interesting things happen, I should not know them as well as Bessie!" she complained.
She was sent to bed, however, and tucked up there, and kissed, and enjoined by an indulgent, reproving mother to be a good girl, and to go quietly to sleep. What mother could be angry with Deleah, looking at her rose and white face amid the tumult of tossed dark curls upon her pillow!
Then Bessie led her mother into an unoccupied room, hard by, upon the landing, and began to unfold her tale.
"Mama, it is about Reggie." The room was only lit by the flame of the candle Mrs. Day held, but there was light enough to show the blushes on Bessie's young plump cheeks. "Mama, he has said something about that again. You know."
"About his being engaged to you?"
Bessie, cheeks and eyes aglow and alight, ecstatically nodded; her fair bosom in its garniture of white tulle and forget-me-nots, rose and fell. "What two pretty daughters I have!" Mrs. Day said to herself, and, being a devout woman, gave thanks accordingly.
"Well, dear, and what did you say?"
"I said--I don't know what I said, mama. We were dancing that last galop--the Orlando Furioso one, you know--and the room was so full, and other couples were rushing down upon us--people are so horribly selfish when they dance, and some of them dance so boisterously."
"It would be a very nice engagement for you, Bessie. I suppose there was not a girl here to-night who would not gladly take him."
"I know that. I know that, mama. So does he--Reggie."
"He did not say so, I hope?"
"No. Reggie does not always want exactly to say things."
"But what did he say to you, dear? Is the matter any forwarder than it was the last time you spoke of it to me?"
"Well, I suppose so, mama."
"You mean you and Reggie Forcus consider yourselves engaged?"
"I think so. But it was so difficult to catch every word in that galop. If he did not say the exact words he said as much."
"Did he say anything about speaking to papa?"
"No. But I said it."
"You said it, Bessie?"'
"Well, mama! Reggie did not seem to wish to be bothered."
"I see."
"Not quite yet, you understand."
"I see."
In the pause that followed the mother's large eyes, surrounded by dark rings, and set rather deeply in the dusky paleness of her well-featured face, dwelt consideringly upon her daughter's round cheeks with their fair smooth skin, upon her grey-green eyes, and smooth fair hair.
"It is not very satisfactory, I'm afraid, Bessie," she said reluctantly at length.
Bessie's face fell. "I thought I'd better tell you."
"Certainly, my dear."
"I wonder what we ought to do, mama?"
"To do, Bessie?"
"I thought, perhaps, if Reggie does not speak to papa, that papa might speak to Reggie?"
Mrs. Day shook a sharply dissenting head. "That would not be the same thing at all, my dear child."
"What ought we to do, then? I thought you would know. Mothers have to arrange these things, haven't they?"
"Well, you see, Bessie, usually the young man--"
"I know. But Reggie does not wish to. If you must know, mama, he said so, in so many words."
"Then, Bessie--!"
"But I think that something ought to be done. You ought to do something--or papa. Everything can't be left to me!"
The tip of Bessie's nose grew pink, her lip quivered, tears showed in her pale blue eyes. Mrs. Day laid a soothing hand upon her arm.
"We won't talk of it any more now," she said. "We are both tired. We