Quite unconscious of any such prescribed routine being the "thing"
among my family circle, I was almost stupefied by the look of
distracted horror which flashed over my step-mother's face, when, the
week after my arrival, I shocked her sensitive good breeding by a
coarse betrayal of my unpardonable ignorance.
It was a perfect June day, flooded with a bright but not overwarm
sunshine; the young leaves on the maple boughs outside my bed-room
window were swaying gently against the lattice, and below in the
freshly trimmed garden the flowers were unfolding their early beauty
to the summer warmth.
I had sought the safe retreat of my room, that I might, as I had
promised, write long and loving letters to some of my much-regretted
school-friends. When all my preparations were ready, and I had dated
the first of these effusions, I was disturbed by a timid knock at the
door. I laid down my pen resignedly and went to open: it was the pert
housemaid, who delivered "Mrs. Hampden's request that Miss Amelia
would kindly begin to dress."
"Dress for what?" said I, in impatient surprise. "This is Tuesday,
Miss," the pampered maid answered insinuatingly, "Mrs. Hampden will be
at home."
"So will I, Janet," I interrupted hastily, "and my present toilet is
quite good enough for the house."
With this rejoinder I closed the door a little forcibly, and went back
to my writing. I had only time to trace--"My darling Ruby,"--when,
without intimation or announcement of any kind, my step-mother burst
into my room, with her hair half dressed, and her toilet jacket flying
loosely about her,--
"Do you want to disgrace us in the eyes of these prattling servants,
Amelia Hampden?" she began in a hoarse undertone, beckoning towards
the hall outside: "the idea of not understanding my message any better
than that," she went on in a whisper of reproachful despair.
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