“May I tell you why, aunt?—because the dress-maker had a real eye, and has chosen the right tints of blue. It is all nonsense about one color not going with another. Nature defies that; and how? by choosing the very tints of each color that will go together. The sweetest room I ever saw was painted by a great artist; and, do you know, he had colored the ceiling blue and the walls green: and I assure you the effect was heavenly: but, then, he had chosen the exact tints of green and blue that would go together. The draperies were between crimson and maroon. But there's another thing in Fanny's dress; it is velvet. Now, blue velvet is blue to the mind; but it is not blue to the eye. You try and paint blue velvet; you will be surprised how much white you must lay on. The high lights of all velvets are white. This white helps to blend the two tints of blue.”
“This is very instructive,” said Vizard. “I was not aware I had a sister, youthful, but profound. Let us go in and dine.”
Fanny demurred. She said she believed Miss Maitland wished to take one turn round the grounds first.
Miss Maitland stared, but assented in a mechanical way; and they commenced their promenade.
Zoe hung back and beckoned her brother. “Miss Maitland!” said she, with such an air. “She wants to show her blues to all the world and his wife.”
“Very natural,” said Vizard. “So would you, if you were in a scarlet gown, with a crimson cloak.”
Zoe laughed heartily at this, and forgave Fanny her new dress: but she had a worse bone than that to pick with her.
It was a short but agreeable promenade to Zoe, for now they were alone, her brother, instead of sneering, complimented her.
“Never you mind my impertinence,” said he; “the truth is, I am proud of you. You are an observer.”
“Me? Oh—in color.”