“But do not the moths attack the lace?”
“Oh, no; you see it belongs to the Master, otherwise it would have been eaten long ago.”
“But why do you not wear it yourself, if he gave it to you?”
Again the tired, puzzled look came over Mariana’s face.
“I have no use for it. Besides—I don’t know. I think it has something to do with sacrifice or freedom. I can’t tell which.”
“Will you give it to Lady Flamington, do you think?”
“I shall not give it to anyone, except the one who asks.”
“But you will be besieged.”
“How can that be when no one knows about it?” And she spread the lace upon the ivory satin, and drew it into graceful folds, just as an understanding artist would. As she did so, even by the meagre light Rosalie perceived its exquisite beauty.
“Who is to be fitted for it?” she asked.