Duty was plain enough. This luxury of anger at her aunt was a forbidden pleasure; it must be given up; and at the thought, Rotha clutched it the more warmly. So the bell rang for dinner, always early on Sunday. She would rather not have gone down, and did linger; then she heard it rung the second time and knew that was to summon the stragglers. She went down. The rest were at table.

"Mamma," Antoinette was saying, "you must get a new bonnet."

"Why?"

"Mrs. Mac Jimpsey has got a new one, and it is handsomer than yours."

"What does that signify?" was asked in Mr. Busby's curious husky tones and abrupt utterance.

"O papa, you don't understand such things."

"Nor you neither. You are a little goose."

"Papa! don't you want mamma and me to be as nice as anybody?"

"You are."

"O but Mrs. Mac Jimpsey's bonnet was fifty times handsomer than mamma's.

_You_ don't know, but it was."

"Nevertheless, your mamma is fifty times handsomer than Mrs. Mac Jimpsey."

"O papa! but _that_ isn't the thing."

"And Mr. Mac Jimpsey's pocket is some fifty dollars or so emptier than mine. You see, we have a hundred times the advantage, to say the least."

"Papa, gentlemen never understand such things."

"Better for them if the ladies didn't."

"My dear," said Mrs. Busby smoothly, "you do not consider dress a subject of small importance?"

"I have no occasion to think about it, my dear, I am aware."

"Why do you say that, Mr. Busby?"

"It receives such exhaustive consideration from you."

"It cannot be done without consideration; not properly. Good dressing is a distinction; and it requires a careful regard to circ.u.mstances, to keep up one's appearance properly."

"What do you think about it, Rotha?" said Mr. Busby.

Rotha was startled, and flushed all over. To answer was not easy; and yet answer she must. "I think it is comfortable to be well dressed," she said.

"Well dressed! but there is the question. What do you mean by 'well dressed'? You see, Antoinette means by it simply, handsomer things than Mrs. Mac Jimpsey."

Antoinette pouted, much incensed at this speech and at the appeal to Rotha generally; and Mrs. Busby brought her lips into firmer compression; though neither spoke. Mr. Busby went on, rather kindly.

"What's the matter, that you didn't go to church to-day? Is Antoinette's bonnet handsomer than yours?"

"It ought to be, Mr. Busby," said the lady of the house here.

"Ought it? Rotha might put in a demurrer. May I ask why?"

"Circ.u.mstances are different, Mr. Busby. That is what I said. Proper dressing must keep a due regard to circ.u.mstances."

"Mine among the rest. Now I don't see why a bonnet fit for Antoinette's cousin isn't good enough for Antoinette; and the surplus money in my pocket."

"And you would have your daughter dress like a poor girl?"

"Couldn't do better, in my opinion. That's the way not to become one.

Fetch me your bonnet, Rotha, and let us see what it is like."

Rotha coloured high and sat still. Indeed her aunt said, "Nonsense! do no such thing." But Mr. Busby repeated, "Fetch it, fetch it. We are talking in the abstract; I cannot convict anybody in the abstract."

"But it is Sunday, Mr. Busby."

"Well, my dear, what of that? The better day, the better deed. I am trying to bring you and Antoinette to a more Christian mind in respect of bonnets; that's good work for Sunday. Fetch your bonnet, Rotha."

"Do no such thing, Rotha," said her aunt. "Mr. Busby is playing; he does not mean his words to be taken literally. You would not send her up three pair of stairs to gratify your whim, when another time would do just as well?"

"My dear, I always mean my words to be taken literally. I do not understand your arts of rhetoric. I will send Rotha up stairs, if she will be so obliging as to gratify my whim."

He looked at Rotha as he spoke, and Rotha half rose from her seat; when Antoinette suddenly dashed past her, saying, "I will fetch it"--and ran off up stairs. Rotha sat down again, much confounded at this benevolence, and wondering what that was not benevolent might lie beneath it. Mrs.

Busby pursed up her mouth and looked at n.o.body. Presently Antoinette came down again. In her hand she held a little grey plush hat, somewhat worn but very jaunty, with a long grey feather, curled round it. This hat she held out on the tips of her fingers for her father's inspection. Rotha's eyes grew large with astonishment. Mrs. Busby's lips twitched. Antoinette looked daring and mischievous. Mr. Busby innocently surveyed the grey plush and feather.

"So that is what you call a hat for a poor girl?" he said. "It seems to me, if I remember, that is very like one you used to wear, Nettie."

"Yes, papa, it is; but this is Rotha's."

"Mrs. Busby, was this your choice?"

"Yes, Mr. Busby."

"Then of course this is proper for Rotha. Now will you explain to me why it is not equally proper for Antoinette? But this is not what I should have called a hat for a poor girl, my dear."

"Mr. Busby, while Rotha lives with us, it is necessary to have a certain conformity--there cannot be _too_ much difference made."

"Hum--ha!" said the bewildered man. Rotha by this time had got her breath.

"That is not my hat however, Mr. Busby," she said, with cheeks on fire.

"Yes, it is your hat," said Antoinette. "Do you think I am saying what is not true? It is your hat, and n.o.body else's."

"It is _your_ hat. I have seen you wear it."

"I have given it to you. It is your hat."