Several evenings later, a banquet was given to a party of Russian notables. As no young people were invited, Augusta, chaperoned by her father’s sister, Mrs. Van Rhuys, arranged a theatre party, which included the English Duke.
As Mrs. Forbes stood between her mirrors that evening, she wondered if she had ever looked more lovely. She wore a gown of ivory white satin, so thick that it creaked, and entirely without trimming, save for the lace on the bust. But about the waist, one end hanging almost to the hem of the gown was a ribbon of large pigeon-blood rubies. A collar of the same gems lay at the base of her long round throat. Above her brow blazed a great star, the points set with diamonds, radiating from a massive ruby. A smaller star clasped the lace at her breast. The bracelets on her arms, the rings on her fingers, sparkled pink and white.
Her lips parted slightly. She thrilled with triumph, intoxicated with her beauty and magnificence. For this woman could never become blasé, never cease to be vital, until the shroud claimed her.
Nevertheless, she felt unaccountably nervous. She had felt so all day.
“I am quite well, am I not, mammy?” she said to an old negro woman who sat regarding her with rapt admiration. The negress had been Virginia’s nurse and personal attendant for thirty-nine years. Only the ocean—for which she had an unsurmountable horror—had separated them. In Augusta she had never taken the slightest interest, but over her idolized mistress she exercised an austere vigilance. And as she was a good old-fashioned doctor, and understood Mrs. Forbes’ constitution as had it been a diagram of straight lines, she was always on the alert to checkmate nature, and rarely unsuccessful.
“You sut’n’y is, honey,” she replied. “You never was pearter. No wonder you git ’cited sometimes with all dose purty things that cos’ such heaps and heaps o’ money. Yo’ uster go wild over yore toys, and you al’ays will be de same.”
It was not yet eight and Mrs. Forbes seated herself lightly on the old woman’s knee. At that moment Augusta entered the room.
“Mother!” she exclaimed in a disgusted voice. “Do get up. I declare you are nothing but a big overgrown baby. If it isn’t papa it’s mammy, and if it isn’t mammy it’s papa.”
“I suppose you can get through life without coddling,” replied her mother, undisturbed; “but I can’t. You look remarkably well this evening.”
“Thanks.” Miss Forbes regarded herself complacently in the mirror. She wore black and pink and there was colour in her face. “I’m no beauty, but I think I do look rather well, and this frock is certainly a stunning fit. You are a vision as usual. There is the carriage.”