CHAPTER IV. LADY HILDEGARDE’S PHOTOGRAPH. After waiting twenty minutes in semidarkness (poor people must exercise patience), the lamp—welcome herald of tea—was carried in by Mrs. Gabb, whose expressive countenance distinctly warned off either questions or expostulations. She proceeded to dash down the blinds, bang the shutters, coal-scuttle, fire-irons, and finally the door. After By lamplight our little apartment did not look nearly so mean and shabby as by day. Emma had marvelous taste in an airy, sketchy style—a taste which, she assured me, was common to many Anglo-[64]Indian ladies, who were frequently compelled to make a very little furniture go a long way, and who were unsurpassed in the art of makeshifts. Some grasses and winter berries filled several bowls and vases; a few pretty Eastern ornaments were scattered about; an Indian drapery was thrown carelessly over the sofa. A smart paper lamp-shade and two or three silk cushions brightened up the room, and last, not least, a considerable gallery of photographs. They caught the eye on all sides, and had a truly imposing effect. Emma had been twelve years in the East, and had accumulated many portraits. Here was a smart cavalry man—an A.D.C.; there an imposing general officer covered with orders; a Ghoorka, a hill beauty, a polo pony, an Indian picnic, a wedding group, a lady in a rickshaw, holding over herself a coquettish Japanese um[65]brella. They made indeed a goodly show, and as Emma remarked, “putting sentiment altogether on one side, were easily carried about, and went a long way towards furnishing a shabby sitting-room.” Whilst the tea was drawing, I tidied up, swept the hearth, straightened the lamp-shade, collected and put away straggling books and papers. Meanwhile, Emma drew forth a pack of somewhat passée cards, cleared a space on the table, and proceeded to deal them out in four neat rows. [64] [65] “I am going to do your fortune,” she announced. [66]“This is your birthday. I wish it had not come on a Friday; however, let me see. Oh, dear, dear, dear! All the bad cards are settling round you. Tears, a disappointment! there is sickness, you see; a journey, a dark man, and a dark woman; she is antipathetic to you, and will injure you. Yes. Look, I have counted again; she comes right between you and the marriage card! You will get your wish.” [66] “But I have not thought of any wish.”
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