(“And let it be a lesson to you, my dear,” she said to Miss Popple afterwards. “And when you see a customer come in with that kind of an air about her, put it up to her at once. What was the set marked at, Miss Popple, dear? Eighteen? You don’t say? Well, let that be a lesson to you.”)
“And do you want nothing for Miss?” enquired the astute milliner, turning with a kind smile to the plain girl. “I’ve a positive sweet of a Tuscan straw with cornflowers, and a blue muslin. It would suit Miss to a charm. Very reasonable.”
Lady Amelia, one stout foot poised for departure—she had a high aristocratic action suited to her nose—paused.
“Cheap? did you say?” she questioned.
“Miss Popple, the blue muslin and the assorted chapeau.”
Lady Amelia gazed through her eyeglass and Pamela rejoiced to see that she hesitated. Colour and sparkle had risen to the plain Miss Vibart’s cheeks, and the flash of joy brought out all kinds of beauties; dimples, and tiny smile waves, and an archness in the curve of that too wide mouth over milk white teeth.
“Chapeau and robe,” she said emphatically, “for you, my Lady, since your Ladyship has already so generously patronised us, and not to disappoint the young lady, eight guineas. Pray Miss, let my Lady see you in the hat.”
Her hands lifted to her country straw, Sarah Vibart paused, looked at her mother, and the light died out of her eyes.
“Jane, you will want another gown,” muttered Lady Amelia. “And blue was always your colour.”
“O Mamma,” said Jane, with a smile of joy that made her for the moment quite exasperatingly lovely.