Dimple was entering, staggering with arms full of books and periodicals of all sizes, shapes and colors. The strain of carrying the weight of literature had caused the safety-pin to give way, and Dimple feared it might have fallen and been lost.
“So, Tante Félicie, you’ll have nothing to do but read and enjoy yourself. Here are some French books mamma sent you, something by Daudet, something by Maupassant and a lot more. Here, let me brighten up your spectacles.” She brightened the old lady’s glasses with a piece of thin tissue paper which fell from one of the books.
“And now, Madame Solisainte, you give me all the keys! Turn them right over, and I’ll go out and make myself thoroughly acquainted with everything.” Madame spasmodically clutched the bag that swung to the arm of her chair.
“Oh! a whole bagful!” exclaimed the girl, gently but firmly disengaging it from her aunt’s claw-like fingers. “My, what an undertaking I have before me! Dimple had better show me round this morning until I get thoroughly acquainted. You can knock on the door with your stick when you want her. Come along, Dimple. Fasten your dress.” The girl was scanning the floor for the safety-pin, which she found out in the hall.
During all of Madame Solisainte’s days no one had ever spoken to her with the authority which this young woman assumed. She did not know what to make of it. She felt that she should have revolted at once against being thus banished to the front room. She should have spoken out and maintained possession of her keys when demanded, with the spirit of a highway robber, to give them up. She pounded her stick on the floor with loud and sudden energy. Dimple appeared with inquisitive eyes.
“Dimple,” said Madame, “tell Miss Bosé to please ‘ave the kin’ness an sen’me back my bag of key’.”
Dimple vanished and returned almost on the instant.
“Miss Bosey ‘low don’t you bodda. Des you go on lookin’ at de picters. She ain’ gwine let nuttin’ happen to de keys.”
After an uneasy interval Madame recalled the girl.
