Chapter 16.6 - Shirley

Obliged to be conspicuous, obliged to walk at the head of her regiment, as the rector's niece, and first teacher of the first class, obliged to make tea at the first table, for a mixed multitude of ladies and gentlemen, and to do all this without the countenance of mother, aunt or other chaperone. She, meantime being a nervous person, who mortally feared publicity. It will be comprehended that, under these circumstances, she trembled at the approach of Whitsuntide. But this year, Shirley was to be with her, and that changed the aspect of the trial singularly. It changed it utterly. It was a trial no longer. It was almost an enjoyment. Miss Kieldar was better in her single self than a host of ordinary friends. Quite self-possessed, and always spirited and easy, conscious of her social importance, yet never presuming upon it, it would be enough to give one courage only to look at her. The only fear was, lest the heiress should not be punctual to tryst. She often had a careless way of lingering behind time, and Caroline knew her uncle would not wait a second for anyone. At the moment of the church clock tolling to, the bells would clash out and the march begin. She must look after Shirley then in this matter, or her expected companion would fail her. Whit Tuesday saw her rise almost with the sun. She, Fanny and Eliza, were busy the whole morning, arranging the rectory parlours in first-rate company order, and setting out a collation of cooling refreshments—wine, fruit, cakes—on the dining-room sideboard. Then she had to dress in her freshest and fairest attire of white muslin—the perfect fineness of the day, and the solemnity of the occasion warranted, and even exacted, such costume. A new sash, a birthday present from Margaret Hall, which she had reason to believe Cyril himself had bought, and in return for which she had indeed given him a set of cambric bands in a handsome case, was tied by the dexterous fingers of Fanny, who took no little pleasure in arraying her fair young mistress for the occasion. Her simple bonnet had been trimmed to correspond with her sash. A pretty but inexpensive scarf of white crepe suited her dress. When ready, she formed a picture, not bright enough to dazzle, but fair enough to interest—not brilliantly striking, but very delicately pleasing—a picture in which sweetness of tint, purity of air, and grace of mien, atoned for the absence of rich colouring and magnificent contour.