“Wait, dear. You haven’t fastened the shoulder. There are ever so many little hooks along there and around the arm hole.”
“I should say there were. What’s the good of so many?—Where do they begin? Look out—wait a minute—Juliet, if you don’t stop twisting around so I never can do it. I can do great, heroic acts, it’s the little trials that floor me—There—no!—that doesn’t look right.”
Juliet ran to the mirror. “It isn’t right,” she cried. “Look—that corner shouldn’t lap over like that. Oh, if I could only reach myself!”
“You can‘t—I’ve often tried it. The human anatomy—Stand still, Julie—you’re getting nervous.”
“If there’s one thing that’s trying——” murmured Juliet.
“Why do you let your dressmakers build your frocks this way? Why not get into ’em all in front, where you can see what you’re doing?—Now I’ve got it. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes. Wait, Tony—here’s the girdle. It fastens behind.”
Anthony surveyed the incomprehensible affair of silk and velvet ribbon she put into his hands. “Looks like a head-stall to me,” he said. Juliet laughed and fitted it about her own waist. Anthony attempted to make it join at the back of the points she held out to him.
“It won’t come together,” he said.
“Oh, yes, it will. Draw it tight.”