The Real Charlotte. 33 



galvanic quiver of a bell-less bellwire, and at last Francie's 

 voice at the angle half-way down the kitchen stairs had en- 

 treated her to find and despatch to her the missing Pro- 

 testant orphan. Then Norry had said to herself, while she 

 lifted the pot of potatoes off the fire, " Throuble-the-house ! 

 God knows I'm heart - scalded with the whole o' yees ! " 

 And then aloud, " She's afther goin' out to the dhryin" 

 ground to throw out a few aper'rns to blaych." 



" Well, I must have somebody ; I can't get my habit on," 

 the voice had wailed in reply. " Couldn't you come, 

 Norry ? " 



As we have said, Norry ascended the stairs with wrath in 

 her heart, as gruesome a lady's-maid as could well be im- 

 agined, with an apron mottled with grease spots, and a stale 

 smell of raw onions pervading her generally. Francie was 

 standing in front of the dim looking-glass with which Char- 

 lotte chastened the vanity of her guests, trying with stiff and 

 tired fingers to drag the buttons of a brand new habit 

 through the unyielding buttonholes that tailors alone have 

 the gift of making, and Norry's anger was forgotten in 

 prayerful horror, as her eyes wandered from the hard felt 

 hat to the trousered ankle that appeared beneath the skimpy 

 and angular skirt. 



" The Lord look down in pity on thim that cut that petti- 

 coat ! " she said. " Sure, it's not out in the sthreets ye're 

 goin' in the like o' that ! God knows it'd be as good for 

 ye to be dhressed like a man altogether ! " 



" I wouldn't care what I was dressed like if I could only 

 make the beastly thing meet," said Francie, her face flushed 

 with heat and effort ; " wasn't I the fool to tell him to make 

 it tight in the waist ! " 



The subsequent proceedings were strenuous, but in the 

 end successful, and finally Miss Fitzpatrick walked stiffly 

 downstairs, looking very slender and tall, with the tail of the 

 dark green habit — she had felt green to be the colour con- 

 secrated to sport — drawn tightly round her, and a silver 

 horse-shoe brooch at her throat. 



Charlotte was standing at the open hall door talking to 

 Mr. Lambert. 



" Come along, child," she said genially, " you've been so 

 long adorning yourself that nothing but his natural respect 



