Chapter 19 - Page 2

her mind something remote and
unapproachable, yet to be earnestly striven after with all the
forces at her disposal. Even Herminia herself stretched a point in
favor of an occasion which she could plainly see Dolly regarded as
so important; she managed to indulge her darling in a couple of
dainty new afternoon dresses, which touched for her soul the very
utmost verge of allowable luxury. The materials were oriental; the
cut was the dressmaker's--not home-built, as usual. Dolly looked
so brave in them, with her rich chestnut hair and her creamy
complexion,--a touch, Herminia thought, of her Italian birthplace,--
that the mother's full heart leapt up to look at her. It almost
made Herminia wish she was rich--and anti-social, like the rich
people--in order that she might be able to do ample justice to the
exquisite grace of Dolly's unfolding figure. Tall, lissome,
supple, clear of limb and light of footstep, she was indeed a girl
any mother might have been proud of.

On the day she left London, Herminia thought to herself she had
never seen her child look so absolutely lovely. The unwonted union
of blue eyes with that olive-gray skin gave a tinge of wayward
shyness to her girlish beauty. The golden locks had ripened to
nut-brown, but still caught stray gleams of nestling sunlight.
'Twas with a foreboding regret that Herminia kissed Dolly on both
peach-bloom cheeks at parting. She almost fancied her child must
be slipping from her motherly grasp when she went off so blithely
to visit these unknown friends, away down in Dorsetshire. Yet
Dolly had so few amusements of the sort young girls require that
Herminia was overjoyed this opportunity should have come to her.
She reproached herself not a little in her sensitive heart for even
feeling sad at Dolly's joyous departure. Yet to Dolly it was a
delight to escape from the atmosphere of Herminia's lodgings.
Those calm heights chilled her.

The Compsons' house was quite as "grand" in the reality as Dolly
had imagined it. There was a man-servant in a white tie to wait at
table, and the family dressed every evening for dinner. Yet, much
to her surprise, Dolly found from the first the grandeur did not in
the least incommode her. On the contrary, she enjoyed it. She
felt forthwith she was to the manner born. This was clearly the
life she was intended by nature to live, and might actually have
been living--she, the granddaughter of so grand a man as the late
Dean of Dunwich--had it not been for poor Mamma's ridiculous
fancies. Mamma was so faddy! Before Dolly had spent three whole
days at the rectory, she talked just as the Compsons did; she
picked up by pure instinct the territorial slang of the county
families. One would have thought, to