“Do you like this, Muriel?” she said, touching one of the thickest.
“It would suit mademoiselle,” said Madame Irène, looking at the delicate complexion and the waves of deep gold hair.
Muriel shook her head.
“I am in mourning—”
“But you will look sweet in white,” said Mrs. Carroll. “You must have a new gown too. Madame, can you make one in time?”
And, in spite of the girl’s look of entreaty, the little woman carried her point, laughingly telling her as they drove home that she had arranged it beforehand with her husband.
“We wanted you to look your best, and white is so becoming for girls. Old married people can do anything, you know,” she added, with a bewitching little smile that went to Muriel’s heart as she tried to thank her.
Very lovely she looked on the night in the long straight folds of the perfectly-fitting gown, with some white moss-rose buds fastened at her breast.
They had been sent to her anonymously, and she thought it was merely another of Mrs. Carroll’s many kindnesses.
She could not resist the pleasure of wearing them, although she discovered her mistake when she made her appearance in the drawing-room.