“O Mamma,” said Jane. It was the first time she had spoken. She was gazing at her reflection in the mirror, crowned by the wonderful hat. Her voice was awestruck, as if she were overwhelmed by the sight of her own loveliness.
Lady Amelia pursed her lips, and then with some tartness bade her daughter turn round. As she obeyed, Miss Pounce seized the vapoury gown and cunningly held it up against the young lady’s figure. A kind of maternal greed obviously struggled with prudence in Lady Amelia’s heart. She gaped meltingly, then frowned, put her finger to her lip.
“Miss could try them all on,” insidiously suggested Pamela Pounce.
“O Mamma,” said Miss Jane Vibart, and:
“O Mamma,” cried her sister. “Jenny looks a perfect picture in that hat, and I’m sure the dress is the most lovely thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. It would be a sin and a shame not to get them for her.”
But Lady Amelia was not so swiftly moved to decision. The garment was tried on and the beautiful Jane was turned and twisted in every direction; while her mother hummed and ha-ed and criticised.
“I’m not so sure I like the green waist-ribbon, no, nor the primroses, neither, mere hedgerow flowers. A nice artificial garden rose, now, and a good blue taffety sash.”
“O Mamma,” protested the plain Miss Vibart in tones of anguish.
“I couldn’t do it, your Ladyship,” said Pamela, with a slightly heightened colour, deftly whisking the hat from the fair head and motioning her underling to conduct the patient back behind the screen.
“It’s the primrose and the green—your Ladyship will excuse me—that makes the real Parisian elegance of this gown. If your Ladyship requires ordinary English taste, there’s Madame Flouncer’s in Clarges Street, a very respectable firm, very respectable indeed, as I’ve heard tell, where your Ladyship would find herself better suited.”