THE COSTUMING OF JULIET
While Dorothy was taking prominent and uncomfortable part in that impromptu "Wild West" show on Broadway, in picturesque and hilly Yonkers, Sybil, in New York, sat in Mrs. Van Camp's old-timey drawing-room and fairly astounded her hostess by confiding to her Mrs. Lawton's evident desire to marry Dorrie to William Henry Bulkley.
"Has Letitia gone stark, staring mad?" she exclaimed. "Why, the man is the merest nobody, who could no more name his grandfather than he could fly! Money he has—yes, of course! But money without family can't balance the public flaunting of all his coarse amours, his bad manners, and worse temper! She must perfectly remember, too, the life he led his poor wife—who was, by the way, a member of the Massachusetts Stone family. Why, her great-uncle was a judge, and her second cousin was lieutenant-governor of the State. How she ever came to accept young Bulkley is a mystery. But she paid for her folly, poor thing. However, I shall take it upon myself to inform Letitia Lawton of some of the atrocities of his recent years, and tell her that as his wife Dorothy would be as dead socially as if she were over in Greenwood."
"Oh, don't!" shivered Sybil, "dear god-mamma! I hope I may go to Greenwood before my little sister Dorrie does!"
And Mrs. Van Camp pushed the girl's dark hair back with a caressing touch and said: "How devoted you two girls are to each other! You might be twins. Even as children I never knew you to squabble or sulk. You, Sybbie, had a furious temper, but your rages were almost always in defence of Dorothy. Do you remember how you kicked the shins of the gardener once because he had kicked her dog?"
"Yes!" laughed Sybil, "and scratched and bit a boy-tramp who attempted to snatch her little locket from her neck. But I can't help loving her, for she's the bravest, sweetest, jolliest, prettiest sister a girl ever had, and she's all the world to me!"
And Mrs. Van Camp, laughing a little at her enthusiasm, held up a finger and said, "Wait!"
And a bit later Sybil was on her way to the theatre, where Mr. Thrall joined her, and together they walked to a house on Fourth Avenue, where Sybil was presented to an ancient couple, who in the profession were recognized as authorities on the subject of correct historic costuming.
Never had the girl received a greater surprise. She had expected a stately and dignified presence, and certainly the sumptuous entourage of a very fashionable dressmaker. But here there was no reception-room, no parlor, no fitting-room, no boy in buttons. Here the thing that first commanded attention and longest held it was the almost overpowering odor of garlic. It led them through the little drab hallway, up the stairs, and to the door of the stuffy and crowded living room, where an old woman in a false front and a black alpaca dress and a snuffy old man in carpet slippers received them.
And, as they heartily greeted the manager, Sybil wondered what on earth there could be in common between the rich and splendid dresses she had seen at the theatre and these frumpish old people, while she shuddered at the thought of their stumpy, uncared-for hands, pulling about beautiful satins and velvets. "But of course," she thought, "they have people under them who do the real work." Afterward she knew that it was the cunning of these same fingers that produced all the wonderful embroideries in bullion and spangles that are so difficult to obtain in this country.