"Is it not ridiculous? Philip insisted. Wait till you see him!" She ran to the mirror. "Do you like the way my hair is dressed, father?"
"I am struck dumb by the whole effect!" answered Sir Maurice. "Yes, I like that white rose in your hair."
"Oh, you must tell Philip that! He spent hours and hours trying to place it to his entire satisfaction! It has been terrible, je t'assure. Yes, I am beginning to acquire an accent, am I not? Philip nearly tore his beautiful wig in his anxiety!" She re-arranged the roses at her breast. "At one time I expected him to summon François to his assistance. But he refrained, and here am I!"
Sir Maurice sat down.
"Has he been dressing you, my dear?"
"Has he—! For the past three hours, sir! He has driven my maid distracted." She started to count on her fingers. "He spent half an hour superintending my hair-dressing and another half an hour placing this rose and the pearls. Then half an hour went to my patches—this is when he nearly tore his wig!—he could not decide where to put them. The arrangement of my gown occupied quite an hour in all. And then he was much put out over my jewels." She held up her fingers. "I vow they are red and sore, sir! I have had rings pushed on them, and dragged off them, until I was nigh screaming with impatience! But now I am dressed—and I have been told on pain of Philip's direst wrath to n'y toucher pas!" She sat down on the couch beside Sir Maurice and slipped her hand in his. "Is he not absurd? And oh, I am prodigious nervous!"
"Why, my dear? What should make you so?"
"You see, it is my first appearance in Paris—it is to be my first ball—and I am so afraid I shall not understand what is said to me, or—or something mortifying!"
"Not understand? Nonsense, Clo! Why, you have talked hardly any English since you have been married."
"Yes, but I am not at all fluent. Philip says everyone will be most amiable, but—oh, dear!"