“O dear, I’m sure I don’t know!” cried Sarah. “My muslins are dreadful washed out, and Mamma said I must do with her mauve Tabby made over, for she couldn’t afford to dress two——”
Here there came a knock at the door, and Meeking, the drab elderly maid, entered, carrying a white silk brocade gown, powdered over with little rosebuds.
“My Lady says you’re to wear this, Miss Sally, and I’m mortal glad,” added the woman, dropping her voice and looking, as if for support, at the milliner, “that you should come to your rights once in a while! Too bad the way this pore young lady’s put upon, Miss. There! I’ve said it now, and I’m glad of it. Her Ladyship’s just given me notice. I wish I could dress you, Miss Sally, I do indeed, but I’ve got to go back to your Mamma this instant minute.”
“Don’t you put yourself out, Ma’am,” cried Miss Pounce, sweetly. “I’ll help your young lady with all the pleasure in life! I was just about to show her the heads I brought on approval.”
“Ah!” said the Abigail darkly, as she withdrew, “there’s heads enough in this house to-night, and that’s the truth!”
“I hardly like, though,” exclaimed Sarah, “to wear poor Jenny’s clothes.”
“Why, you’re a sweet creature!” The milliner shook out the glistening folds. “’Twill suit you, Miss——”
“Oh, my ugly face!”
“Ugly! As far as that comes to, Miss Vibart, there’s ugly beauties, and there’s charming—well, charming uglinesses, since that’s your own word. I’d never call a lady ugly who’d so fine a figure, and so bright an eye—and if your mouth is a bit wide, Miss, sure your teeth are a picture; and if your nose is a trifle snub, there’s something so merry and arch in the way it cocks when you smile, that I for one would not have you different. I vow I would not!”
Pamela was in the act of passing the Beauty’s fine gown over Cinderella’s shoulders, and as she twitched it into place she proceeded with fresh energy.