“If it will satisfy your doubts, I can inform you,” said Miss Leigh, with a quiet smile. “To place her two children with her grandmother, that they may receive an European education. She is a thoughtless being, but hardly deserves your severe censures.”
The amiable manner in which this lady endeavoured to defend the absent, without wholly excusing her levity, struck Flora very forcibly. Mrs. Dalton’s conduct upon deck had created in her own mind no very favourable opinion of her good qualities. Miss Leigh’s remarks tended not a little to soften her disgust and aversion towards that individual, whose attack upon her she felt was as ill-natured, as it was unjust. She was now inclined to let them pass for what they were worth, and to dismiss Mrs. Dalton from her thoughts altogether. But Miss Mann was too much excited by Miss Leigh’s extenuating remarks, to let the subject drop, and returned with fresh vigour to the charge.
“It is totally beyond my power,” she cried, “to do justice to her vanity and frivolity. No one ever before accused me of being ill-natured, or censorious; but that woman is the vainest person I ever saw. Did you notice, my dear Mrs. F., that she changed her dress three times yesterday, and twice to-day? She knelt a whole hour before the cheval-glass, arranging her hair, and trying on a variety of expensive head-dresses, before she could fix on one for the saloon. I should be ashamed of being the only lady among so many men. But she is past blushing—she has a face of brass.”
“And so plain too,” murmured Mrs. Major F.
“You cannot deny that her features are good, ladies,” again interposed Miss Leigh; “but creoles seldom possess the fine red and white of our British belles.”
“At night,” suggested Miss Mann, “her colour is remarkably good: it is not subject to any variation like ours. The bleak sea air does not dim the roses on her cheeks; while these young ladies look as blue and as cold as figures carved out of stone. Of course, Miss Leigh will think me very uncharitable in saying that Mrs. D. paints; but I know she does. She left her dressing-case open yesterday, and her little boy was dabbling his fingers in her French carmine and pearl white, and a fine mess he made of his mamma’s beautiful complexion. Bless me!” exclaimed the old maid, suddenly lowering her voice to a whisper, “if there is not her black imp sitting under the table; he will be sure to tell her all that we have said about her! What a nuisance he is! I do not think it is proper for him, a great boy of sixteen, to be admitted into the ladies’ cabin.”