“Why, it was silk, I think,—yes, heavy silk, wasn’t it, Joyce?”
“That, or a silk poplin. It was not a modern, modish gown at all; it was like a draped shawl.”
“Drapery hanging from the shoulders?”
“Yes,” Natalie answered, her mind so intent on giving Ford the right idea, that she didn’t think of the queerness of the question.
“Double skirt?”
“Yes—or, that is, a skirt, and then an over drapery in full long folds. Oh, it was lovely!”
“Are you apt with your pencil, Miss Vernon? Could you draw a rough sketch of that gown?”
“I can’t but Mrs. Faulkner can. She’s good at sketching draperies. Here’s a paper pad, Beatrice. Will you draw it for Mr. Ford?”
“Certainly,” and taking the paper, Beatrice rapidly sketched an indication of Orienta, in her flowing robe.
“That’s just right,” said Natalie, “but the folds were fuller, I think.”