“I don’t know which to try on first,” she said. “Try this evening one. Isn’t it lovely? It is sure to fit! Cerise never makes a mistake—never!”
Esmeralda surrendered herself to the two maids, who with experienced deftness put the frock on her, then stood back to view the effect, and exchanged meaning glances. Lady Wyndover stood almost breathless for a moment, then she gave a long sigh of satisfaction, and sunk into a chair.
“Will it do?” asked Esmeralda, calmly looking down at the dress.
“Look in the glass,” said Lady Wyndover. “Stand there—so; now you can see yourself. Well?”
Esmeralda gazed at her reflection in the pier-glass with a feeling of wonder and pleasure. Lady Wyndover had pitched upon the prettiest dress—a soft silk of indescribable hue, but one which set off Esmeralda’s coloring to perfection. She scarcely knew herself, but stood looking in the glass as if she doubted the truth of the reflection. Then, suddenly, the color rose to her face, and deepening, dyed her neck; and she felt herself blushing all over.
“Isn’t—isn’t it— Is this all there is of it?” she asked in a low voice.
“All there is of it? Why, what more do you want, child?” demanded Lady Wyndover.
The maids smiled and looked down.
“I thought there might be something to cover my neck and shoulders and arms,” said Esmeralda. “There’s only this strap, and the thing feels as if it were slipping off,” and she blushed again.