(“Lady Patricia would sound great! Wouldn’t it?”)
“There, Kitty Cat,” said Patty, tossing the paper to Lady Hamilton, “there’s your agreement, and now, my dreams of glory over, I’ll go and ‘bind my hair and lace my bodice blue.’ I always wondered how people bind their hair. Do you suppose they use skirt braid?”
But Lady Kitty was shaking with laughter over Patty’s foolish “document” and offered no reply.
An hour or so later, Patty presented herself for inspection.
She wore a pale blue dimity, whose round, full blouse was belted with a soft ribbon. The skirt, with its three frills edged with tiny lace, came just to her instep, and disclosed dainty, patent-leather oxfords.
Her golden braids, crossed and recrossed low at the back of her head, were almost covered by a big butterfly bow of wide white ribbon. In fact, she was perfectly garbed for an American girl of eighteen, and the costume was more becoming to her pretty, young face than the trained gown of the night before.
Lady Hamilton was still at her dressing table.
“I feel quite at ease about you now,” she said, looking up. “Nobody will propose to you in that rig. They’ll be more likely to buy you a doll. I’m not nearly ready yet, but don’t wait. Run along downstairs, you’ll find plenty of people about.”
Slowly Patty descended the great staircase, looking at the pictures and hanging rugs as she passed them.
“For mercy’s sake, who is that?” was Lady Herenden’s mental exclamation as the girl neared the lower floor.