Free Intermezzo by Eleanor Anne Cox

herself.
    Then Waterston intruded once more into her thoughts as he turned and addressed Becka, “Rebecka you and Aunt Sophia will see that Miss Trowle is decently attired.”
    With this last comment he quickly excused himself and left the room before Adela could think of a suitable response.
    That afternoon Adela wrote a short note to Richard Brewer and the next day she returned to Helene’s. Adela would have preferred to have worn the cinnamon velvet, but as acquiescence to Sophia’s judgment had clearly become a precondition of her performance, she agreed to purchase another gown. Having agreed to buy a gown, Adela had begged Sophia and Rebecka to consider some other establishment which was somewhat less exclusive and considerably less expensive. Again she was overruled, although Sophia did suggest that the judgment of a younger more modish woman might be helpful. And so Nancy Owens was invited to join the party.
    Adela selected a subdued russet silk gown. It was hardly the color or cut of a ball gown, but it was a gown in which Miss Adela Elizabeth Trowle—pianist—felt comfortable.
    Neither Lady Spencer nor Miss Owens were delighted with her choice, but they did not interfere. When Nancy Owens had stepped aside to examine some fabrics for a new ball gown of her own, Adela turned to Lady Spencer and braced herself to ask the price of the russet silk.
    Almost before she could begin, she was interrupted by Sophia, “ I will be responsible for the purchase of your clothing, Adela.”
    “Thank you my dearest and only aunt, but you must know that I cannot accept your charity.”
    “Stuff and nonsense. I, my girl, am an old tartar, a dowager countess, an institution, if you will. I must be humored.” And then seeing the closed look in Adela’s eyes, she continued in a different vein, “Adela, you are my family. I was quite fond of your mother—I grew up with her and yet, somehow, I neglected to search her out in the wilds of Yorkshire and lend her comfort and refuge during those dark years of her marriage. Can you imagine how wretchedly guilty I feel now? Surely you will let me expiate a very little by helping her daughter.”
    Adela was not proof against such an appeal. “I do beg your pardon, Aunt Sophia. I have been so used to being poor and the poor, you know, must be proud—they have nothing else.”
    “I understand, child.”
    And then, glimpsing three dresses Rebecka had brought her to try, Adela gasped, “Becka, Becka, dear sweet Becka! They are lovely gowns all of them and so a la mode, but I could not wear them.”
    “You need morning dresses and ball gowns and ever so many things, Adela.”
    “Perhaps I do, child, but I must go slowly or I will be outfitted with many inappropriate clothes. Do not you agree, Aunt Sophia?”
    “In this instance I do, but I must insist on at least one walking dress to supplement the gray silk.”
    “Very well, I see a blue muslin over there which I think I could wear to advantage.” And as she was fitted into the rather severe walking dress she watched Madame Helene taking the three lovely silk and satin gowns from the disappointed Rebecka.
    The child was determined. “The russet silk and the blue muslin are all very well, Cousin Adela, but they do not look at all like something Miss Oliver would wear.”
    Nancy Owens had returned and Adela found herself blushing furiously, but Miss Owens, grinning, was well in command of the situation. “Rebecka, do you think that Miss Oliver’s clothes would truly suit Adela?”
    “Miss Oliver is a professional,” the child answered. “Becka, I am not aspiring to be just that kind of professional.” Then thinking that she was being a little prudish, Adela added, “A concert pianist isn’t quite like an actress, you know.”
    Later, when the four of them had stopped for tea and ices at Gunnings, Rebecka returned to the subject of the gowns. “I understand, Cousin Adela, that you would not wish to wear anything very showy;