Sophie had on for the first time, too, a necklace she had made herself of stones the miners had given her at different times. There was a piece of opal for almost every man on the fields, and she had strung them together, with a beautiful knobby Potch had made her a present of for her eighteenth birthday, a few days before, in the centre.
Just as she had finished dressing, Mrs. Watty Frost called in the doorway: "Anybody at home?"
"Come in," Mrs. George Woods replied.
Mrs. Watty walked into the bedroom. She had a long slender parcel wrapped in brown paper in her hand, but nobody noticed it at the time.
"My!" she exclaimed, staring at Sophie; "we are fine, aren't we?"
Sophie caught up her long, cotton gloves and pirouetted in happy excitement.
"Aren't we?" she cried gaily. "Just look at my gloves! Did ever you see such lovely long gloves, Mrs. Watty? And don't my ear-rings look nice? But it does feel funny wearing ear-rings, doesn't it? I want to be shaking my head all the time to make them joggle!"
She shook her head. The blue and green fires of the stones leapt and sparkled. Her eyes seemed to catch fire from them. The women exchanged admiring glances.
"Where's my handkerchief?" Sophie cried. "Father's late, isn't he? I'm sure we'll be late! How long will it take to drive over to Warria?—An hour? Goodness! And it'll be almost time for the dance to begin then! Oh, don't my shoes look nice, Maggie?"
She looked down at her feet in the white cotton stockings and white canvas shoes, with ankle straps, which Maggie Grant had sent into Budda for. The hem of her skirt came just to her ankles. She played the new shoes in and out from under it in little dancing steps, and the women laughed at her, happy in her happiness.