"There ought to be a curtain, and somebody ought to ring it up," she said. "Enter the domestic virtues."
And she came and stood before them, her eyes shining still, and her head erect, but—perhaps through the rather severe black and white of her costume—seeming to have a shade less color than before.
"I did not make them for this occasion," she said. "They have appeared before. You don't remember them, Richard, but I had them when Jack was a baby—and a novelty. I tried being maternal then."
"Why, yes," said Richard, "to be sure I remember them,—and very becoming they were, too."
"Oh, yes," she answered. "I knew they were becoming!"
She turned and fronted Tredennis.
"I hope they are becoming now," she said, and made her little courtesy again.
"They are very becoming," he answered, looking at her steadily. "I like them better than—the silks and brocades."
"Thank you," she said. "I thought you would—or I would not have put them on. Jack and Janey, come and stand on each side of me while I sit down. I have always congratulated myself that you were becoming. This is what we shall be constrained to do when we are in Virginia, only we shall not have the incentive of being looked at."
"We will make up a party," said Richard, "and come down once a week to look at you. Planefield would enjoy it, I am sure."