The Countess was curious to see what the child’s selection would be.
“I looked to see which you liked best,” said Derette, “because I wouldn’t like to choose that.”
“True courtesy here!” remarked the Countess. “It is nothing to me, my child. Which dost thou like?”
“I like that one,” said Derette, touching the crimson, which was a rich, soft, dark shade of the colour, “and I think Agnes would too; but I don’t want to take the best, and I am not sure which it is.”
“Fold it up,” said the Countess to Cumina, with a smile to Derette; “let it be well lapped in a kerchief; and bid Wandregisil go to the Osney Gate, so that Stephen can take the child home.”
The parcel was folded up, the Countess’s hand kissed with heartfelt thanks, and the delighted Derette, under the care of Cumina, returned to the Osney Gate with her load.
“Well, you are a child!” exclaimed Stephen. “So Cumina has really found you a gown? I thought she would, if she had one to give away.”
“No,” said Derette, “it is the Countess’s gown.”
“And who on earth gave you a gown of the Lady’s?”
“Her own self!—and, Stephen, it is of her own wearing; she hadn’t done with it; but she gave it me, and she was so nice!—so much nicer than all the others except Cumina.”