Read "The Real Lady Hilda" by B.M. Croker online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
A few days before Christmas, Emma and I were taking a constitutional (a walk for duty, not for pleasure) between two bare uninteresting hedges, about a mile from Stonebrook. We had been stitching all the morning at the dress in which I was to make my _début_ at the Abbey-a rich white satin, long and plain, which Emma had worn but once, and that fitted me with surprisingly little alteration, beyond lengthening the skirt.
This tramp along a muddy footpath was the result of my companion's extreme anxiety with respect to my complexion! I had been forced abroad-much against my inclination-to "get a color." As we trudged together, in somewhat gloomy silence, a smart little sandy-haired horse-woman trotted gaily by, followed by a groom. She glanced at us carelessly in passing, looked back, and finally drew up short. It was Mrs. Cholmondeley.