“There now, don’t look so savage, my friend,” said the lady, “and you shall see what a chance I will give you for a second survey.”
Before young Lambert could answer, the reckless creature had called another clerk to her side.
“This velvet cloak,” she said, “I should like to see it tried on. Please call the young person.”
The clerk stepped over to Eva Laurence, and spoke to her. She looked up quickly, bent her head, and came across the room, almost smiling the contempt she felt for that rude girl, who only seemed the more plebeian from the fact that her coarseness was smothered in purple and fine linen.
Without a word Eva invested herself in the velvet garment, and with its rich, deep laces settling round her, stood out in the midst of the open space to be examined, looking gravely and quietly on the group that gathered around her.
Then the ladies fell to examining the cloak by detail; handling its glossy folds, criticising the pattern of the lace, and exclaiming at the perfect fit; while Spicer turned the shrinking girl round, and jerked the cloak in and out of place, as if that proud, sensitive creature were a mere lay-figure, with a wooden soul, created for her amusement.
“There now, Mr. Lambert, tell me if this is not perfect?”
Miss Spicer turned as she spoke; but the gentleman, for whom all this display had been gotten up, was at the other end of the room, looking diligently out of the window.
“Mr. Lambert! Mr. Lambert! Come; we want your opinion,” cried Miss Spicer, so loudly that every one in the room could hear.
“I beg your pardon,” answered the young man, blushing with angry annoyance; “gentlemen are no judges of such things.”