“Guess!” he said in a whisper that matched hers. It was as if the two were baffling, tantalizing each other.
“You shan’t see until you pay me!”
An answering sparkle dipped in her eyes.
“Oh, but, Sir William, you don’t approve paying until I’ve seen it’s worth payment? No, I will, I must see first!”
“Will you swear to be honest and pay afterwards?”
“Not if I don’t like it. Will you swear I shall?”
“I swear on my honour. I’ll throw it out of window if you don’t, and ask for nothing.”
It was a delightful moment. She looked up at the tall handsome man, his hair scarcely grey beneath the powder, the star of the Order of the Bath shining on his left breast, for he had been at the Palace, and it was absolute enchantment to find she could thus hold and charm him. Walking almost on tiptoe she approached the box.
The strings had been undone, the cover was ready for the lifting. She raised it and only a thin sheet of paper lay between her and a revelation. Looking archly back at him she lifted that also, and then clasped her hands with a little scream of delight.
A gown—a beautiful, a wonderful gown, such as she had never seen in all her life—a gown of ivory-white satin, pure as the petals of a water lily, and painted by hand with garlands and groups of flowers most cunningly disposed to set off girlish curves and flushes. A wonderful piece of art in her eyes, a wonderful enhancement to beautifullest beauty, a sheer delight.