“That’s a lovely dress you’re wearing,” said I. “It goes so well with your skin and your hair.”
She was delighted, and was moved to rise and look at herself in the long mirror. She gave herself an approving glance, but not more approving than what she saw merited. A long, slim beautiful figure; a dress that set it off. A lovely young tip-tilted face, the face of a girl with fresh, clear eyes and skin, the whitest, evenest sharp teeth—and such hair!—such quantities of hair attractively arranged.
From herself she glanced at me. “No one’d ever think what we came from, would they?” said she fondly and proudly. “Oh, Godfrey, it makes me so happy that we look the part. We belong where we’re going. The good blood away back in the family is coming out. And Margot— I’ve always called her the little duchess—and she looks it and feels it.” Dreamily, “Maybe she will be some day.”
“Why, she’s a baby,” cried I. For I didn’t like to see that my baby was growing up.
“She’s nearly fourteen,” said Edna. She was looking at herself again. “Would you ever think I had a daughter fourteen years old?” said she, making a laughing, saucy face at me.
I got up and kissed her. “You don’t look as old as you did when I married you,” said I, and it was only a slight exaggeration.
When we sat again, she was snuggled into my lap with her head against my shoulder. She was immensely fond of being petted. They say this is no sign of a loving nature, that cats, the least loving of all pets, are fondest of petting. I have no opinion on the subject.
“What was it you wanted to talk about?” said I. “Money?”
“No, indeed,” laughed she.
“I supposed so, as that’s the only matter in which I have any influence in this family.”