And the dressing-table was no
dressing-table at all, but a small old chest of drawers, the most
awkward thing in the world to sit down before, for the big brass
handles quite hurt her knees, and she couldn't get near the glass at
all comfortably. But devout worshippers never allow inconveniences
to prevent them from performing their religious rites, and Hetty this
evening was more bent on her peculiar form of worship than usual.
Having taken off her gown and white kerchief, she drew a key from the
large pocket that hung outside her petticoat, and, unlocking one of
the lower drawers in the chest, reached from it two short bits of wax
candle--secretly bought at Treddleston--and stuck them in the two
brass sockets. Then she drew forth a bundle of matches and lighted the
candles; and last of all, a small red-framed shilling looking-glass,
without blotches. It was into this small glass that she chose to look
first after seating herself. She looked into it, smiling and turning her
head on one side, for a minute, then laid it down and took out her brush
and comb from an upper drawer. She was going to let down her hair,
and make herself look like that picture of a lady in Miss Lydia
Donnithorne's dressing-room. It was soon done, and the dark hyacinthine
curves fell on her neck.
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