"But, Ann dear," said Hermione, lifting her head and shaking it ruefully, "I have—nothing! And my best dress—I made it in such a hurry, you remember—it needs pressing and—"
"He ain't marryin' you fer your clo'es, Hermy—no, sir! It's you he wants an'—oh, shucks! What do clo'es matter t' you, anyway? You was meant to be one o' them nymphs an' goddesses as went about clad—well, airy. You'd ha' done fine with them soft arms an' shoulders an'—"
"But I'm not a goddess, Ann, I'm only poor Hermy Chesterton—with a hole in one stocking and the lace on her petticoat torn, and her other things—well, look here!" and up whirled gown and petticoat, "see what a state they're in—look, Ann!"
"My dear, I am!" nodded Mrs. Trapes over her teacup, "an' what I say is, it don't matter a row o' pins if a stockin' 's got a bit of a hole in it if that stockin' 's on sich a leg as that! An' as fer—"
"But," sighed Hermione, "don't you understand—"
"My dear, I do! I was a married woman once, mind. An' I tell you 'beauty doth lie in the eye o' the beholder', my dear, an' the two eyes as is a-goin' t' behold you this night is goin' t' behold so much beauty as they won't behold nothin' else."
"But—he loves dainty things, I'm sure."
"Well, ain't he gettin' a dainty thing? Ain't he gettin' th' daintiest, sweetest, loveliest—" Here Mrs. Trapes set down her cup again to clasp Hermione in her arms.
"Do you think he'll—understand, Ann?"
"He'll be a fool if he doesn't!"