“Not as a mere young lady!” exclaimed Rachel.
“That is happily not possible.”
An answer that somewhat puzzled Rachel, whose regard for him was likely to be a good deal dependent upon his contentment with Alison’s station in life.
“I must say young ladyhood looks to the greatest advantage there,” Rachel could not help exclaiming, as at that moment Elizabeth Keith smiled at them, as she floated past, her airy white draperies looped with scarlet ribbons; her dark hair turned back and fastened by a snood of the same, an eagle’s feather clasped in it by a large emerald, a memory of her father’s last siege—that of Lucknow.
“She is a very pretty creature,” said the Colonel, under the sparkle of her bright eyes.
“I never saw any one make the pursuits of young ladyhood have so much spirit and meaning,” added Rachel. “Here you see she has managed to make herself sufficiently like other people, yet full of individual character and meaning.”
“That is the theory of dress, I suppose,” said the Colonel.
“If one chooses to cultivate it.”
“Did you ever see Lady Temple in full dress?”
“No; we were not out when we parted as girls.”