They had reached the dressing-room, and Mrs. Girdle bestirred herself to find an appropriate dress for Helen. A plain white muslin was selected, looped at the sleeves with blue ribbons. Some little alterations were made in the arrangement of her hair, and Mrs. Girdle seemed satisfied.
“No need of artificial color here,” said she, with a glance at Helen’s flushed cheeks. “Nature has taken care of that. You are really very pretty, Miss Ford.”
“Thank you,” said Helen; “but it sounds strange to have you call me Miss Ford. Nobody calls me so.”
“What is your name, then?”
“Helen.”
“I am glad it is a pretty one. It suits you better. Does no one tell you that you are pretty?”
“Sometimes.”
“And does it not make you feel vain?”
“Why should it?” inquired Helen, seeming surprised.
Mrs. Girdle looked at her with some curiosity. It was long since she had met with one so natural and transparent, and she hardly knew how to understand her. The world she had lived in did not abound in such characters.