Dumps – A Plain Girl

“Oh, good gracious! then I suppose I shall have to be civil.”

“I beseech of you, don’t; keep as like him as you can.”

“If you mean for a single moment that Dumps is like her father in appearance, you are much mistaken,” said Hermione, bending across me to speak to Augusta.

“She is like him neither in body nor in mind.”

“But she has a trifle of his moral force,” replied Augusta, with great majesty; and then, finding that neither Hermione nor I was at all in sympathy with her, she satisfied herself with remaining silent and leaning against my shoulder. Perhaps she thought I was imparting to her some of my moral force. I really felt a savage desire to push her away.

At last we landed, and found ourselves in a first-class compartment in the Paris train, and a few minutes afterwards we were on our journey. We arrived there in the evening. Then we found ourselves in an omnibus which was sent to meet us from the school, and were on our way to that home of all the virtues just beyond the Champs Élysées. My heart was beating high. I was full of suppressed anxiety. Hermione once or twice touched my hand. She was also very excited; she was wondering what sort of life lay before her. Augusta, on the other hand, was utterly irresponsive. She did not make one remark with regard to gay, beautiful, brilliant Paris, which looked, as it always does at this hour, full of marvellous witchery, so brilliantly lighted up were the broad streets, so altogether exhilarating was the tone of the bracing air.

Augusta sat huddled up in one corner of the omnibus, while Hermione and I got as close to the door as we could, and gazed out of the window, which was wide-open, exclaiming at each turn as we drove along. The Champs Élysées flashed into view; we drove on, and presently turned into a very broad street, and pulled up with a jerk before a house which seemed to have a balcony to each window, and which was brilliantly lit from attic to cellar.

Our companion, the lady who had brought us, now said something in excellent French, and we got out of the omnibus and followed her up a paved path and through an open doorway into a wide hall. Here a servant appeared, who was told to take us to our rooms. We followed her up some stairs, which were white marble and were uncarpeted. We passed a wide landing where there were some marble figures in the corners, and large palm-trees standing beside them; then again past folding-doors, and through a landing with more marble figures and more palms, until at last we entered through two doors, which were flung open wide, into a pretty little sitting-room. Why do I say little? The room was lofty, and was so simply furnished that it looked much larger than it was. The floor was covered with oak parquetry, and was polished to the most slippery degree. There were a couple of rugs here and there, but no carpet. In the centre of the room was a table covered with a white cloth, and containing knives, forks, glasses, and a bunch of flowers rather carelessly arranged in a vase in the middle. There were heavy chairs in the Louis-Quinze style, with a great deal of gilt about them, and a huge mirror, also with gilt, let into the wall at one side; and exactly opposite the wall was a door, which led into three small bedrooms, all communicating each with the other.

“These are your apartments, young ladies,” said the governess who had taken us upstairs. “This is your sitting-room, where to-night you will have your supper. You will not see your companions – or I think not – until the morning. You will be glad to retire to rest, doubtless, as you must have had a long journey. Your supper will come up in a moment or two. If you give your trunks to Justine she will unpack them and put your things away. Ah! here is the bell; if you will ring it when you want anything, Justine, who is the maid whose special duty it is to wait on you, will attend the summons.”

The governess turned to go away.

“But, please,” called out Hermione as she was closing the door, “what are we to call you?”

“Mademoiselle Wrex.”

We thanked her, and she vanished. Augusta stood in the middle of the room and clasped her hands.

“Well, now, I call this jolly!” I said.

“Delightful! And how quaint!” said Hermione. “I never thought we should have a sitting-room.”

“But there isn’t a book,” remarked Augusta.

“Oh, we don’t want books to-night, Augusta. Now, do lean on my moral strength and forget everything unpleasant,” I said.

“Oh! do look out of the window; here’s a balcony,” cried Hermione. “Let us go out on it when we have had supper.”

She pushed back the curtains, opened the window, and the next minute she was standing on the little balcony looking down into the crowded street.

“Oh! and that house opposite; we can see right into its rooms. What fun! What fun! I do call this life!” cried the girl.

“We had better go and unlock our trunks; remember we are at school,” I said.

“How unlike you, Dumps, to think of anything sensible!” was Hermione’s remark.

We went into our rooms.

“I am going to ring the bell for Justine,” said Hermione.

She did so, and a very pretty girl dressed in French style appeared. She could not speak English, but our home-made French was sufficient for the occasion. We managed to convey to her what we wanted, and she supplied us with hot water, took our keys, and immediately began to unpack our trunks and to put away our belongings.

“You shall have the room next to the sitting-room,” I said to Hermione.

“Very well,” she answered.

“I will take the next,” I said; “and, Augusta, will you have that one?”

“It’s all the same to me,” said Augusta.

In less than half-an-hour we felt ourselves more or less established in our new quarters.

“Now,” said Justine, becoming much animated, “you will want, you pauvre petites, some of the so nécessaire refreshment.”

She rang the bell with energy, and a man appeared bearing chocolate, cakes of different descriptions, and sandwiches. We sat down and made a merry meal. Even Augusta was pleased. She forgot the absence of books; she even forgot how far she was from the Professor. As to her poor mother, I do not think she even gave her a serious thought Hermione and I laughed and chatted. Finally we went and stood on the balcony, and Augusta retired to her own room.

“Now this is a new era; what will it do for us both?” said Hermione.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Aren’t you happy, Dumps?”

“Yes, I am a little; but I don’t suppose I am expected to take things very seriously.”

“It is a great change for me,” said Hermione, “from the regularity of the life at home.”

“I suppose it is,” I said; but then I added, “You cannot expect me to feel about it in that way.”

“Why so?”

“It seems to me,” I continued, “that I have been for the last few months taken off my feet and whirled into all sorts of new conditions. We were so poor, so straitened; we seemed to have none of what you would call the good things of life. Then all of a sudden Fortune’s wheel turned and we were – I suppose – rich. But still – ”

“Don’t say you prefer the old life.”

“No – not really. I know she is so good; but you must admit that it is a great change for me.”

“I know it is; but you ought to be thankful.”

“That is it; I don’t think I am. And what is more,” I continued, “I don’t think this is the right school for Augusta. There is just a possibility that I may be shaped and moulded and twisted into a sort of fine lady; but nothing will ever make Augusta commonplace, nor will anything make you commonplace. Oh dear! there is some one knocking at the door.”

The knock was repeated. We said, “Come in!” and a girl with a very curly head of dark hair, bright eyes to match, and a radiant face, first peeped at us, then entered, shut the door with a noisy vehemence, and came towards as with both her hands extended.

Half-way across the room she deliberately shut her eyes.

“Now, I wonder which of you I shall feel first. One is Dumps and the other Hermione. I am expected to adore Dumps because she is so jolly and plain and sensible and – and awkward; and I am expected to worship Hermione because she is exactly the reverse. Now – ah! I know – this is Hermione!”

She clasped her arms round my somewhat stout waist.

“Wrong – wrong!” I cried.

She opened her eyes and uttered a merry laugh.