Great Britain -- History -- 19th century -- Juvenile fiction
"'Don't look shocked,' said Fatima. 'I shall never be a politician. Of
all studies, that of politics seems to me the most disturbing and
uncomfortable. If some angel, or inspired person would tell me which
side was in the right, and whom to believe in, I could be a capital
partisan. As it is, I don't worry myself with it; and last night when
you were looking flushed and excited at the end of the speech, I was
calmly happy--'
"'But, Fatima,' I broke in, 'you don't mean to say--'
"'If it had lasted five minutes longer,' said Fatima, 'I should have
comfortably decided whether ferns or ivy would combine better with the
loops.'
"'But, Fatima! were you really not listening when--'
"'On the whole I decide for ivy,' said Fatima, and danced out of the
room, I following and attempting one more remonstrance in the hall.
"'But, Fatima!--'
"'With perhaps a suspicion of white chrysanthemums,' she added over
the banisters.
"Both the new ideas promised to be successful, and the following
evening my hair was dressed in what Fatima now called the political
plaits. From the first evening of my introduction into society she had
established herself as my lady's maid. She took a generous delight in
dressing me up, and was as clever as she was kind about it. This
evening she seemed to have surpassed herself, as I judged by the
admiring exclamations of our younger sister Phillis--a good little
maid, who stood behind my chair with combs and pins in her hand as
Fatima's aide-de-camp. Finally, the dexterous fingers interwove some
sprays of ivy with the hair, and added white rosebuds for lack of
chrysanthemums.
"'Perfect!' Fatima exclaimed, stepping backwards with gestures of
admiration that were provokingly visible in the glass before which I
sat. 'And to think that it should be wasted on an uninteresting
tea-party! You will not wear your new muslin, of course?'
"'Indeed, I shall,' I answered. 'You know I always make myself smart
for the Cottage.' Which was true, and my reason for it was this. I
had once gone there to a quiet tea-party in a dress that was rather
too smart for the occasion, and which looked doubly gay by contrast
with the sombre costume of the elderly friends whom I met. I was
feeling vexed with myself for an error in taste, when Miss Mary came
up to me, and laying her hands affectionately on me, and smoothing my
ribbons, thanked me for having come in such a pretty costume.
"'You come in, my dear,' she said, 'like a fresh nosegay after winter.
You see we are old women, my love, and dress mostly in black, since
dear James's death; and our friends are chiefly elderly and
sombre-looking also. So it is a great treat to us to look at something
young and pretty, and remember when we were girls, and took pains with
such things ourselves.'
"'I was afraid I was too smart, Miss Mary,' I said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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