But Caroline did understand, and this outburst of genuine admiration pleased her so much that, in a moment, her face was glowing like a whole thicket of roses, and she hadn't the courage to lift her eyes, from fear that Eliza would see how foolish she was to care about what the little French woman said.
Eliza saw all this, but it only made that grim smile broader and deeper on her own face; and when the golden-brown hair was frizzed and rolled, and dropped in two rich curls on that white shoulder, she turned her face upon the French woman and said, "Very nice!" in a way that made the little woman put her head on one side, and nod it half a dozen times, while she answered:
"Yes, I tink so."
India gauze was dropped like a cloud over Caroline's head; the sash of purplish blue was girded around her waist, and bunched up in superb bows behind; then the cloudy stuff was gathered up in drapery from a silken under-skirt, tinted like the sash, and fastened back with clusters of the moss-roses.
This completed the toilet. No jewels were there, not even a string of pearls, though Olympia had ropes of them; and Caroline rather sighed for their completeness when she took a full-length view of herself in the mirror, as foolish girls will, who never learn the value of simplicity and freshness until both are lost.
Then the little French woman went away to Olympia, giving Caroline plenty of time for reflection. The first thing the girl did was to look shyly at Eliza, who pursed up her lips, and did her best to keep from smiling. Then she took courage, and said:
"Eliza."
"I hear," answered the grim hand-maiden.
"Eliza, do you think he would know me in this dress? Or, if so, would he like it, as he did that dear Italian costume?"
"I don't know," answered Eliza. "Them Italians have queer notions about dress. Now, for my part, them short skirts and low-necked waists did well enough for common-sized girls; but you're too tall, and carry your head too high, for anything but a skirt that sweeps out and puffs up like that."