Louisiana wore for a moment a look of absolute fright.
"Oh, no!" she cried. "Oh, no. Your figure is magnificent."
"Magnificent!" echoed Miss Ferrol, giving way to her enthusiasm, and indulging in figures of speech. "Don't you see that I am thin—absolutely thin. But my things fit me, and my dressmaker understands me. If you were dressed as I am,"—pausing to look her over from head to foot—"Ah!" she exclaimed, pathetically, "how I should like to see you in some of my clothes!"
A tender chord was touched. A gentle sadness, aroused by this instance of wasted opportunities, rested upon her. But instantaneously she brightened, seemingly without any particular cause. A brilliant idea had occurred to her. But she did not reveal it.
"I will wait," she thought, "until she is more at her ease with me."
She really was more at her ease already. Just this one little scrap of conversation had done that. She became almost affectionate in a shy way before they reached the dining-room.
"I want to ask you something," she said, as they neared the door.
"What is it?"
She held Miss Ferrol back with a light clasp on her arm. Her air was quite tragic in a small way.
"Please say 'Louise,' when you speak to me," she said. "Never say 'Miss Louisiana'—never—never!"