At that moment Kate came slowly into the room and courtesied. She wore the small hoops of a young lady of ’61, a dainty costume, when it is not exaggerated; and some of the charm of that sedate attire found its way by contagion into the personality of the wearer. Gentleness and sweetness were her prevailing charms that evening.
Blynn watched her with open interest; an occupation which she did not miss, even when her back was toward him; but he was only thinking how that crinoline period had been much maligned, and was fancying that her mother must have been just such a shy, timorous creature a quarter of a century ago.
Mary and Betty had discovered ill-mated parts of gowns of the early ’80’s—skin-tight sleeves, lace shawl and enormous bustles. Bea Wilcox wore a genuine child’s dress, her younger sister’s, and, with her height, looked as scandalous as she intended.
Later, on the lantern-lighted porch, Blynn was aware of Gorgas standing beside him holding out a hand and asking:
“Weren’t you ever coming over to greet me and wish me congratulations?”
“By the Great Horn Spoon!” he ejaculated, looking her over open-eyed. “What’s happened to you?”
“I’ve growed up, M’sieu’.” Something had certainly happened to her. Her masquerade consisted simply of the gown her sister Keyser would have worn that evening if there had been no disguising. Besides, she had coiled her hair.
“This beats the tennis-court all hollow,” he murmured, patently dumbfounded by the change. “Retro, Sathanas! Get thee behind me, silk and satin!”
“Do you like it?” she asked; but staring admiration glowed from him.
“Ein tousand ein hundred ein und zwanzig!” he swore à la Bardek. “It’s uncanny, eerie, spooky!”