At ten o'clock Julia was still in the height of dressing, delayed by contretemps upon contretemps. Sarah and her sister did her hair up too loose, and, being a glorious mass, it threatened all to come down and, meantime, a hair-pin quietly but persistently bored her cream-white poll.
“Oh, run for mamma!” she cried.
Mamma came half dressed, had the hair all down again, and did it up with adroit and loving hand, and put on the orange wreath, kissed her admiringly, and retired to her own toilet; and the girls began to lace the bride's body.
Bump came Edward's foot against the door, making them all shriek.
“Now I don't want to hurry you; but Dr. Sampson is come.” The handmaids, flustered, tried to go faster; and, when the work was done, Julia took her little handglass and inspected her back: “Oh,” she screamed, “I am crooked. There, go for mamma!”
Mamma soon came, and the poor bride held out imploring hands, “I'm all awry; I'm as crooked as a ram's horn.”
“La, miss,” said Sarah, “it's only behind; nobody will notice it.”
“How can they help it? Mamma! am I deformed?”
Mrs. Dodd smiled superior and bade her be calm: “It is the lacing, dear. No, Sarah, it is no use your pulling it; all the pulling in the world will not straighten it. I thought so: you have missed the second top hole.”
Julia's little foot began to beat a tattoo on the floor: “There is not a soul in the house but you can do the simplest thing. Eyes and no eyes! Fingers and no fingers! I never did.”