Having dismissed my maid, who professes herself lost in pleased astonishment at the radiant spectacle I present, I go softly to 'Duke's dressing-room door, and, hearing him whistling within, open it quietly.
Standing motionless, framed in by the portals, I murmur, "Marmaduke."
He turns, and for a moment regards me silently.
"My darling!" he says then, in a tone of glad surprise, and comes quickly up to me.
"Am I—looking—well?" I ask tremulously.
"'Well!' you are looking lovely," returns he, with enthusiasm, and, taking my hand carefully, as though fearful of doing some injury to my toilet, leads me before his glass. "See there," he says, "what a perfect little picture you make."
I stare myself out of countenance, and am thoroughly satisfied with what I see.
"I had no idea I could ever appear so—presentable," I say, half shy, wholly delighted.
"You shall be painted in that dress," declares 'Duke warmly, "and put all those antiquated dames in the picture-gallery in the shade."
"Are not the diamonds beautiful?" exclaim I. "And my gloves such a good fit! And"—anxiously—"Marmaduke, are you sure you like my hair?"