“Nonsense!” said Madame Récamier, jumping lightly forward. “A man doesn’t mind blowing a woman up, but he’ll never blow himself up. We’re safe enough in that respect. The thing looks to me like a bundle of illustrated papers.”
“That’s what it is,” said Cleopatra, who had been investigating. “It’s rather a discourteous bit of courtesy, tossing them in through the window that way, I think, but I presume they mean well. Dear me,” she added, as, having untied the bundle, she held one of the open papers up before her, “how interesting! All the latest Paris fashions. Humph! Look at those sleeves, Elizabeth. What an impregnable fortress you would have been with those sleeves added to your ruffs!”
“I should think they’d be very becoming,” put in Cassandra, standing on her tiptoes and looking over Cleopatra’s shoulder. “That Watteau isn’t bad, either, is it, now?”
“No,” remarked Calpurnia. “I wonder how a Watteau back like that would go on my blue alpaca?”
“Very nicely,” said Elizabeth. “How many gores has it?”
“Five,” observed Calpurnia. “One more than Cæsar’s toga. We had to have our costumes distinct in some way.”
“A remarkable hat, that,” nodded Mrs. Lot, her eye catching sight of a Virot creation at the top of the page.
“Reminds me of Eve’s description of an autumn scene in the garden,” smiled Mrs. Noah. “Gorgeous in its foliage, beautiful thing; though I shouldn’t have dared wear one in the Ark, with all those hungry animals browsing about the upper and lower decks.”
“I wonder,” remarked Cleopatra, as she cocked her head to one side to take in the full effect of an attractive summer gown—“I wonder how that waist would make up in blue crépon, with a yoke of lace and a stylishly contrasting stock of satin ribbon?”
“It would depend upon how you finished the sleeves,” remarked Madame Récamier. “If you had a few puffs of rich brocaded satin set in with deeply folded pleats it wouldn’t be bad.”