Wild Kitty by L. T. Meade (fun to read .TXT) 📖

now both appeared upon the scene. Kitty in her new dress, with a train nearly a foot on the ground, was stepping backward and forward before the long glass in Mrs. Denvers' wardrobe. Her eyes were flashing with merriment and delight. Her small arched feet were dancing a pas de seul in and out of the many flounces which befrilled the end of the pink dress.

"Well, do you like it?" called Kitty. "How do you think I look? Did you ever see anybody more elegant in all your born days? Oh, if only the dear old dad could see me! I feel as if I must kiss myself." Here she commenced blowing kisses vigorously at the gay figure reflected in the glass.

"Come, Kitty," said Mrs. Denvers, "you are not going out in that dress."

"And why not, my dear Mrs. Denvers? Why shouldn't I go out and captivate the natives? That's what a pretty girl is made for."

"Not in this country," said Mrs. Denvers in a somewhat severe voice. "It cannot be done; Kitty, you are much too young to wear a dress of that sort. While you are with me you must expect to be guided by my taste and wishes."

"But, dear Mrs. Denvers, Aunt Bridget ordered it."

"Well, of course, dear, you can wear it at Castle Malone, but not here—at least, not out of doors. Yes, my child, it is a very pretty dress; but I do understand what is right for girls to appear in. You must have something quieter, Kitty."

"Then come along and choose for me," said Kitty, who was as good-natured as she was high-spirited and volatile. "Come straight and choose, for Alice, poor child, is troubled with the sulks."

"What do you mean?" said Alice indignantly.

"But isn't it true, darling; you have such a frown between your brows, and it doesn't improve you. There, cheer up, Alice, honey! Why, it's the best of friends I want to be with you; but you don't like me, not a bit. I'll win you yet, Alice, aroon! But at the present moment you're saying in your heart: 'What a nasty, forward, ill-bred girl that is, and I am ashamed, that I am, that my schoolfellows should see me with the likes of her.'"

"Come, come, Kitty, no more of this," said Mrs. Denvers. "If you are going out you have no time to lose. Yes, let me see your wardrobe. I think this dark-blue dress is the best."

"But you are not expecting me to go out in the open air without a body!" said Kitty, "and there's nothing but a skirt to this. I suppose I may wear one of my pretty blouses?"

"Yes; that skirt and a nice blouse will do. Now then, get ready, both of you, as quickly as you can. Kitty, remember I expect your things to be put away tidily."

"To be sure, ma'am. Why, then, it would be a shame to spoil all these pretty garments. I'll put them away in a jiffy, and come down looking as neat as a new pin."

Alice, who had brushed out her hair, put on a clean collar and a pair of cuffs, was now standing waiting for her friend.

"Look here," she said suddenly, "will you be long putting away your things and dressing?"

"Not very long, darling; but I must curl my fringe over again."

"I wish you wouldn't wear a fringe, Kitty; none of the nice girls do at the school."

"Is it give up my fringe I would?" answered Kitty.

"What a show I'd be! Why, look at my forehead, it's too high for the lines of pure beauty. Now, when the fringe comes down just to here, why, it's perfect. Aunt Bridget said it was, and she's a rare judge, I can tell you. She was a beauty in her youth, one of the Dublin beauties; and you can't go to any city for fairer women than are to be found in Dublin. I tell you what it is, Alice, I see you are in a flurry to be off. Can I overtake you?"

"You can," said Alice suddenly. "You can come to me at Bessie
Challoner's house."

"Bessie Challoner!—what a pretty name!—Challoner! I like that!" answered Kitty, looking thoughtful. "And where's her house, aroon? What part of the neighborhood is it situated in?"

"Come here to the window and I'll show you. When you leave this house you turn to the right and walk straight on until you come to Cherry Lodge—that's the name of the house. Bessie and I will be waiting for you."

"Well, then, off you go, and I won't keep you many minutes."

Alice ran out of the room. She found her mother waiting for her downstairs.

"Oh, mother," said Alice, "she's too dreadful."

"Come now, no whispering about me behind my back," called a gay voice over the stairs. "I thought it would be something of that sort. That's not fair—out with your remarks in front of me, and nothing behind."

"Kitty, Kitty, go back and dress, you incorrigible child!" called Mrs.
Denvers.

"Mother!" said Alice.

"My dear Alice," said her mother, "you will soon learn to like that poor child. She has a great deal that is good in her, and then she is so pretty."

"Pretty?" muttered Alice. "Oh, I see you're bewitched like the rest of them."

She left the house, feeling more uncomfortable, depressed, and angry than she had done for several years.

Mr. Denvers was a lawyer, and made a fairly good income; but his large family and the education of his boys had strained his resources to such an extent that he was very glad to accept the liberal sum which Kitty's father was paying for her. Alice knew all about this, and at first was more than willing to help her family in every way in her power. She did not murmur at all when she was asked to give up half of her room to the Irish girl. She was quite willing to take her under her patronage, to show her round, to try to get friends for her among her own schoolfellows—in short, to make her happy. But then Alice had never pictured any one in the least like Kitty Malone. She had imagined a somewhat plain, shy, awkward girl, who would lean upon her, who would give her unbounded affection, and follow her lead in everything. Now, this sparkling, racy, daring Kitty was by no means to her mind. There was not the least doubt that Kitty would not be guided by anybody, that she would never play second fiddle, and there was also a dreadful fear down deep in poor Alice's heart that she would fascinate her school fellows instead of disgusting them, and that Alice's own dearest friends would leave her in favor of the stranger.

She walked very slowly, therefore, a frown between her brows, discontent and jealousy in her heart.

Bessie was waiting for her at the gate.

"Why, Alice," called out Bessie, "how late you are. We shan't get to
Harley Grove by five o'clock."

"I can't help being late; it is a blessing you see me now," answered
Alice. "I wonder you waited for me, Bessie."

"Well, my dear," answered Bessie, "I would much rather walk with you than take a solitary ramble by myself. I thought," she added, "you were going to bring that new Irish girl with you. Has she come?"

"Has she not come?" answered Alice. "Oh, Bessie, Bessie, it is because of her I am late. Oh, Bessie, she is quite too dreadful."

"How so?" asked Bessie.

"She is the most extraordinary, wild, reckless, absolutely unladylike, vulgar person I ever came across in the whole course of my life."

"What a lot of adjectives!" laughed Bessie. "I shall be quite curious to see her; from your description she must be a monster."

"She is a monster, a human monster," answered Alice; "and the worst of it is, Bessie, that in some extraordinary way she has fascinated both father and mother, and even Fred—Fred, who hates girls as a rule; they are all so taken up with this blessed Kitty Malone that they don't mind her perfectly savage manners. I can tell you I am quite miserable about it."

"Poor Alice," answered Bessie in a sympathetic tone. "I suppose then, dear, she is not coming with us?"

"Oh, yes, she is; she is following us. She could not find anything quiet enough to put on."

"Quiet enough to put on! What do you mean?"

"Oh, my dear, her wardrobe is beyond description. She absolutely wanted to come to poor Gwin's quiet little tea party in a dress fit for a ball, flounced and frilled and laced and ribboned, and with a train to it, absolutely a train, although she is not fifteen yet."

Bessie could not help laughing. "I am sorry she is fond of dress," she answered; "I can't bear that sort of girl."

"Oh, you'll positively loathe her, Bessie. I quite pity you at the thought of having to walk with her this afternoon."

"My dear Alice, we must make the best of it," answered Bessie, "and I don't suppose she will quite kill me; she will be amusing at any rate."

"Amusing enough to those who have not got to live with her day and night," answered Alice in a very discontented voice. "Oh, and here she comes," she added; "and, look, she is running and racing down the road and waving her hands to us. Oh, Bessie, it is intolerable! Don't you pity me?"

"What! is that the girl?" cried Bessie. "How very—"

"How very what?" asked Alice.

"How very pretty she is!"

"Pretty," said Alice in a tone of such withering scorn that Bessie could not help gazing at her friend in astonishment.

CHAPTER IV. TIFFS ALL AROUND.

Kitty's dark-blue skirt was all that was correct and proper; it reached just to her ankles, and her remarkably small and beautifully-shaped feet were encased in the neatest possible tan boots. But the blouse of light pink silk, all bedizened with bunches of ribbons and lappets of lace, was in Alice's eyes almost as painfully unsuitable as the trained skirt. Kitty wore a little close-fitting cap of dark-blue velvet on her head. Her hair, of the softest, cloudiest black, true Irish hair, was piled up in a thick mass behind; in front it waved and curled round her white forehead. Kitty was very tall, and, child as she still was in years, had a more formed figure than most girls of her age. She was drawing on her tan gloves now, and unfurling a parasol of tussore silk with a heavy lace fall.

"I do hope I'm smart enough," she said, panting slightly as she spoke.
"Is this one of your schoolfellows?"

"Yes; my friend, Miss Challoner."

"Haven't you got a Christian name?" asked Kitty, staring frankly with her wide-open eyes at Alice's friend.

"Bessie is my name," answered Bessie Challoner.

"Do you mind my calling it to you? I like Challoner awfully, and if I were to say Challoner without the Miss it might do, but Miss is so stiff. I hope I may be Kitty to you, and then you won't object to being Bessie to me."

"Not a bit," answered Bessie heartily; "but we are a little late, and had better walk on as fast as we can."

Gwin Harley lived in a beautiful house about two miles away, and the girls turned down a path which led across some fields in the direction of Harley Grove. The time of year was toward the end of May, and the weather was perfect.

Kitty, who had been silent for a time, now stood in the middle of the field, threw both her hands to her sides, let her parasol drop on the ground, and opened her mouth wide.

"Have you gone quite mad?" asked Alice in a severe tone.

"Mad is it?" said Kitty; "not I. I am taking in some of the air." Here she began to breathe very deeply and with considerable noise. "Why, my ducky girls, the pair of you, I was fairly suffocated in that bandbox of a house; now the breeze here is fine and fresh, and I want to fill my lungs. Is there any objection?"

"Oh, none I am sure," answered Bessie; "but you really did look most extraordinary."

"I am glad no one was passing at the moment," said Alice. "What would they have thought?"

"Does it matter what they think?" asked Kitty. "We never mind what anyone thinks of us in Ireland. Ah, the dear