“As if I’d broken my wrist,” said Esmeralda. “All right.”
In her soft, languid way Lady Wyndover explained several other little society mannerisms, and Esmeralda listened with her grave eyes fixed on her monitor’s carefully got-up face.
“It all seems a great bother, and not to matter much,” she said, at the close of the lesson. “I hope I sha’n’t forget it all.”
Lady Wyndover laughed.
“I don’t fancy you will,” she said, shrewdly. “And, after all”—with a sigh—“it won’t matter what you do!”
The following evening Esmeralda stood in the center of the dressing-room, with the two maids and Lady Wyndover in a circle round her. She was fully dressed, and upon her white arms and neck glittered and sparkled the set of diamonds and pearls which they had bought in Bond Street.
She looked very lovely, and, strange to say, not at all anxious, though she still felt as if she would have preferred the dress to have contained a little more material in the bodice.
“You are not at all shaky,” said Lady Wyndover; “what a strange girl you are! I remember quivering like a leaf at my first party, and having to take a dose of sal volatile before starting.”
“Ought I to be nervous?” Esmeralda said. “I’ll try to be, if you think I ought. Haven’t I got too many jewels about me? I’ve got almost as many as you have, and I seem to myself to be all ablaze.”
Lady Wyndover shook her head confidently.