“But it is a most glaringly patent fact that we are not,” said Dolly. “There is one thing certain, however,—it must be white.”
“A simple white muslin,” suggested 'Toinette, struggling in the grasp of the immortal Tod,—"a simple white muslin, with an equally simple wild flower in your hair, à la Amanda Fitzallan. How the Dowager Bilberry would like that.”
“And a wide blue sash,” suggested Mollie. “And the sleeves tied up with bows. And tucks, Dolly. Girls, just think of Dolly making great eyes at an eligible Philistine, in white muslin and a sash and tucks!”
She was a hardened little sinner, this Dolly, her only redeeming point being that she was honest enough about her iniquities,—so honest that they were really not such terrible iniquities after all, and were regarded as rather good fun by the habitués of Vagabondia proper. She laughed just as heartily as the rest of them at Mollie's speech. She could no more resist the temptation of making great eyes at eligible Philistines than she could help making them at the entertaining but highly ineligible Bohemians, who continually frequented Phil's studio. The fear of man was not before her eyes; and the life she had led had invested her with a whimsical yet shrewd knowledge of human nature, and a business-like habit of looking matters in the face, which made her something of a novelty; and when is not novelty irresistible? And as to the masculine Philistines,—well, the audacity of Dolly's successes in the very midst of the enemy's camp had been the cause of much stately demoralization of Philistine battalions.
At her quietest she created small sensations and attracted attention; but in her wicked moods, when she was in a state of mind to prompt her to revenge the numerous small slights and overt acts of lofty patronage she met with, the dowagers stood in some secret awe of her propensities, and not without reason. Woe betide the daring matron who measured swords with her at such times. Great would be her confusion and dire her fall before the skirmish was over, and nothing was more certain than that she would retire from the field a wiser if not a better woman. After being triumphantly routed with great slaughter on two or three occasions, the enemy had discovered this, and decided mentally that it was more discreet to let “little Miss Crewe” alone, considering that, though it was humiliating to be routed, even by one of their own forces, it was infinitely more so to be routed by an innocent-looking young person, whose position was questionable, and who actually owed her vague shadow of respectability to her distant but august relative, the Lady Augusta Decima Crewe Bilberry, wife of the Rev. Marmaduke Sholto Bilberry, and mother of the plenteous crop of young Bilberrys, to whom little Miss Crewe was music teacher and morning governess.
So it was that Mollie's joke about the tucks and white muslin gained additional point from the family recollection of past experiences.
“But,” said Dolly, when the laugh had subsided, “it won't do to talk nonsense all day. Here 's where we stand, you know. Coffee and conversation on Friday night on one side, and nothing but my draggled old green tarlatan on the other, and it's Tuesday now.”
“And the family impecuniosity being a fact well established in the family mind,” began Phil, with composure.
“But that 's nonsense,” interrupted Aimée. “And, as Dolly says, nonsense won't do now. But,” with a quaint sigh, “we always do talk nonsense.”
But here a slight diversion was created. Mrs. Phil jumped up, with an exclamation of delight, and, dropping Tod on to Mollie's lap, disappeared through the open door.