Drusilla with a Million Part 8

"Perhaps I shouldn't look at them then--"

Daphne interrupted her.

"You just buy what you want. Don't you worry about what Father thinks. I don't."

"But I--I--don't want to be extravagant."

"You _can't_ be extravagant. You _can't_ spend too much. Now, don't you think about it--and don't you ask how much they cost. You don't need to know. Just you buy the prettiest things they've got."

Finally a choice was made of two pretty soft gray dresses, fragile enough to suit even Daphne's luxurious tastes; arrangements were made in regard to their hurried alterations; and, after buying a wrap to replace the now discarded mantle, they departed, Drusilla as happy as a child, with a flush on her old cheeks and a strange happy light in her blue eyes.

"Now we must have things to go with them."

They went into a lingerie shop, where Drusilla was dazed by the piles of dainty underclothing that were spread before her. She caressed the soft laces and the delicate, cobweb affairs.

"Oh, Miss Thornton, I can't decide. I didn't know there was such beautiful things in the world! Had I ought to have 'em? Ain't they too young for me?"

"There is no age for underclothing. Don't you want them? Isn't that the loveliest nightgown? Don't you want it?"

"Yes, I'd like to have it, but--" Drusilla thought of her two Canton flannel nightdresses lying in her little trunk.

"Well, you shall have them. And this fluffy gray dressing-gown--it is a dear. We will take that too; and this pretty bed-jacket. Look at the embroidery on it. You must have that, so if you have breakfast in bed--and _look_ at this dear lace cap. When you sit up in bed, with the tray in front of you, and this little jacket on, and the cap, with a little of your hair showing beneath it, why, you'll look nice enough to _eat_. Now we'll go and buy stockings, pretty gray silk ones, and shoes, and slippers; and we mustn't forget about the milliner. I know the _loveliest_ place; Madame will know just what to give you."

Drusilla enjoyed the milliner's the most of all; for there she tried on hat after hat--not ugly bonnets but cleverly arranged creations for an old lady that seemed to remove the lines from her face and made her feel that perhaps, after all, she could take a part and share in the beautiful things of this new beautiful world, instead of a mere looker on.

At last they were taken to one of the great modistes, a creator of gowns known on two continents, and Daphne had Miss Doane wait in a reception-room while she interviewed the great lady herself. This arbitrator of fashion came smilingly to Miss Doane and with her keen, professional eye saw her "possibilities." She said to Miss Thornton:

"Will you leave it to me? I will make her the gowns and she will be pleased."

Measurements were taken and orders given; and when they were again in the motor, Drusilla asked shyly:

"What was that last place, Miss Thornton?"

"That is Marcelle, the great dressmaker's place. That was Marcelle herself who came to us."

"Was that a dressmaking shop? I didn't see no dresses or fashion books."

"No, she doesn't use fashion books. She makes her own fashions."

"But--but--we jest got two new dresses."

Miss Thornton laughed.

"Oh, those are because we were in a hurry. Your dresses must be _made_. I told her she must hurry, too; and her things are beautiful, Miss Doane. You'll love yourself in them."

Drusilla laughed softly.

"I'm afraid I love myself already. It seems awful vain for an old woman like me to be buying all them pretty clothes--but--" and she sighed like a happy child--"it's nice to be vain for once in your life. It's just _nice_."

"Of course it is. All women love pretty clothes."

"Yes; it must be something born inside of us, 'cause I don't know as I've ever had such a feelin' even when readin' the Bible as I did when I tried on them hats, and bought them dresses, and knowed they was _mine_." She was quiet for a moment. "I wonder if Eve ever had the chance to be extravagant in fig leaves?"

"Well, we've bought them, and Father's hair will certainly turn gray, but he can't say a word. Now we'll go to lunch. It's late; you must be hungry. I'm glad we found a coat that fitted you--that velvet is so soft and pretty. And your hat--why, Miss Doane, you won't know yourself!"

"Is it pretty? It ought to be. It's got ten dollars of hat and thirty dollars of style; but I don't care. I'm so happy that I'm afraid I'll cry and spoil it all."

But she did not cry and she enjoyed the luncheon at the big hotel, and as she ate she stole shy glances in the mirror opposite that reflected a transformed Drusilla from the frightened little woman who had gone tremblingly down the steps of the Doane home the day before.

CHAPTER IV

The next few days pa.s.sed in a whirl of excitement for Drusilla.

Dresses were bought for her to fit, and she went into town with Daphne on visits to the great dressmaker, who turned and studied Drusilla as gown after gown was fitted to her slim, yet still erect old figure. But finally they were all finished and great boxes came to the house. They were opened by Jeanne and their treasures spread upon the chairs and the bed to be admired and fingered lovingly by Drusilla, who took as much joy in her new clothes as any girl with her first trousseau. Except for the Bible and the life of John Calvin the contents of the little trunk were lost, so far as Drusilla was concerned. She became another being, as, clothed in soft-toned grays, her hair dressed by the hand of expert Jeanne, she gradually lost her feeling of loneliness, of being a person apart from her new life, and began to move with confidence amongst the treasured beauties of her new home.

The pretty gowns gave her a feeling of respect for herself that she had never experienced before, and for the first time in her life she felt within herself a _power_. Her opinions were deferred to, her wishes carried out immediately, and it seemed to her that all the world was trying to give her happiness. It took her many days to feel that she might ask for service instead of waiting upon herself; but she soon learned that the many servants were there for her especial use, and expected to be called upon to render any service that she required.

At first she was embarra.s.sed when the housekeeper came to her in the mornings for orders for the day, and she confided to Daphne that she didn't know what to tell her. Daphne interviewed the housekeeper privately and then said to Drusilla, "I have seen Mrs. Perrine and told her that she doesn't need to come to you in the morning, as she understands what is to be done. If there is anything special, you will tell her, but you are not to be bothered with the details of the house now. After a while, perhaps, you will care to attend to some of the things, and tell her what you would like; but don't let it worry you until you get used to it all. I told the chef, too, that he need not send up the menu for the day, as he did to Mr. Doane."

Miss Thornton could not know how thankful Drusilla was for this last order, as the consideration of the menu had been a great embarra.s.sment to her. It was written in French--a language quite unknown to Drusilla--and although she could not read the names of the marvelous creations of the cook, the food delighted her and the quiet, skilful service was always a wonder. The mechanism of the great household seemed to move with almost a machine's precision, and she felt that she was in a world that revolved to the order of unseen hands.

She had been in her new home but a few days when a card was brought her, and she read on it: _Thomas Carney, The New York Times_. She went to the library, wondering what some strange man could want with her. She found a very quick, alert young man, with twinkling blue eyes, who rose to greet her. She gave him her hand and asked him to be seated. He sat down, and then question after question was asked Drusilla. What relation she was to Elias Doane? Had she ever known him? How she had pa.s.sed her life; the details of the life in the Doane home; how many years she had been there? Her impressions of her new home; what she intended doing with her million dollars; if she had any relatives to whom she would leave her money? Was she interested in charities? Did she believe in promiscuous giving, or would she help personally the objects of her charity?

Poor Drusilla heard the flood of questions in amazement, and answered them quite frankly; and the keen young newspaper man read much between the answers that showed the loneliness of her life, her bewilderment in her new surroundings, and he congratulated himself that he would have an article for his Sunday paper that not only would be filled with facts but also would have "heart interest."

When he rose to go he asked her if she had a photograph of herself.

She laughed.

"No, I ain't never had my pictur' took since I was a young girl and had it on a tintype."

Nothing daunted, the young man asked for it; but she had to tell him that she had lost it years ago; and then he asked if he might take her photograph as she sat there in her high-backed chair. Drusilla was a little awed by this very confident young man, so she sat still while he took her photograph, and then when he was ready to depart, she hesitatingly said:

"Young man, you have asked me a lot of questions. May I ask you one?"

He laughed.

"Certainly! As many as you want."

"Well, why have you asked me so many things?"

"I represent the New York _Times_, a newspaper, and we want to tell the people all about you."

"About _me_? Why should they want to know about _me_?"