“I suppose I do look like a perfect guy,” said Miss Rindy, “so it’s no wonder you’re laughing at me. Give me that hand mirror.”
“No, no, you are not to see yourself till you are all dressed. I was laughing because I’m so pleased at the result of my efforts.”
“You don’t expect me to get dressed twice. How can I do my hair with that fancy frock on?”
“That is just what I don’t expect. I guarantee that you won’t want to take off the frock once you see how well you look.” She slipped the dress over her cousin’s head, fastened it, after many objections to the extremely modest display of throat, finished it off with an old-fashioned pin, swung the chain into place, then turned her cousin around to face the large mirror. “There,” she exclaimed, “how do you think you look?”
“Like a fool,” responded Miss Rindy with her twist of a smile.
“Orinda Crump, I am ashamed of you! You know perfectly well that you never looked so well in all your life. You’d pass for no more than thirty-five at the most. Will you have a dab of powder on your nose? You won’t? Well, with your nice complexion you really don’t need it. ’Fess up that you are pleased as Punch.”
“I have to acknowledge, Ellen, that I never dreamed that dress could make such a difference, and that I suppose I am a vain old goose to be so pleased, but what troubles me is what people will think. I know what Sophy Bennett will say: ‘There’s no fool like an old fool.’”
“What do you care what she says or thinks? I’m sorry I invited her if you think she’ll make you feel uncomfortable.”
“She won’t, not any more than any one else. Let’s go down, Ellen, before I get so puffed up looking at myself in the glass that there’ll be no enduring me.”
“There’s the bell,” cried Ellen.