Flossie was longing to know more. Now, as she observed Juliet's graceful, distinguished appearance, she noted that new clothes were among the agreeable results of the uncle's coming. There was envy as well as admiration in Flossie's eyes as she scanned every detail of Juliet's neat, perfectly fitting costume. Flossie's own gown was far gayer, but, as she knew well, it was not in such good style as Juliet's. Flossie loved fine clothes. She regarded with absolute reverence everything that could be described by her favourite adjective, stylish. She could seldom gratify as she would her own taste in this respect. Her father was at once lavish and mean. Money was often scarce in their extravagant, ill-ordered household.
Flossie had no regular allowance for dress, but had to coax and cajole her father into giving her money as she wanted it. If he were in a good humour, he would perhaps give her more than she expected; but more often, he gave her less than she wanted, so that she was driven to run up bills unknown to him, reckless of the storm she must face when they had to be settled. As she had no idea how to lay out money to the best advantage, and generally bought the first thing that struck her fancy, her wardrobe was full of sharp contrasts, and her appearance seldom presented a harmonious whole. The effect of a good gown would be marred by shabby boots, or that of a fashionable and expensive hat by a cheap and ill-cut jacket. In spite of all her efforts, poor Flossie did not, as Juliet's sisters were so keenly aware, look like a lady. There were times when she was dimly conscious of this herself. Such a twinge of painful consciousness visited her now, as she watched Juliet looking so cool and at her ease in the gown which became her so well.
"Enter not into judgment with Thy servant, O Lord." The voice of the clergyman, who was commencing the service, broke in upon her thoughts. Oh, if God were to judge us according to the vain imaginings, the petty cares we suffer to absorb our minds when we profess to worship Him, where should we stand?
At the close of the service, Flossie watched for her opportunity, and as Juliet stood alone at a little distance from the church waiting for her mother, who had lingered to speak to an acquaintance, she approached her.
"How awfully nice you look to-day, Juliet! I never saw you in a more becoming frock. If Algernon could see you now, all in white, he might well call you an angel."
Juliet started, coloured, and looked round in some alarm, for Flossie had not thought it necessary to lower her voice.
"Hush, Flossie! I wish you would not speak in that way. I am not an angel, or anything like one."
"Now you need not be cross. I meant no harm. You do look charming, and I think a poor unlucky creature like me might be allowed to admire the way in which you act the role of the rich heiress."
"Heiress indeed! What nonsense you are talking! I am no more an heiress that I am an angel."
"Rubbish, Juliet! You need not try that on with me. Of course your uncle means to leave you all his money."