"'T is certain," cries George Anne gaily. "Not a word will I drop to Mr Sheridan, who is a perfect Israelite where theatre matters are in hand. Count on me."
She was gone ere the girls returned, and 'tis needless to tell their wonder. They preferred the stage, yet condescended to say they would favour the ball, since Mrs Bellamy counselled it. "But, never, never will it turn my heart from the charming footlights!" says Maria. "What say you, sister?"
"I know not. My taste is quieter than yours. I will tell you my mind the day after the ball. Poor Harry--'tis he has given us this."
She would say no more, but sat thoughtful.
'Twas the evening of the Birthnight ball when George Anne arrived, in a hackney coach, attended by her dresser, and scarce visible for mantua boxes. The three children were put away--their usual fate--in the beds within, and though not able to sleep for excitement, were mute as mice, lest they be punished by the closing of the door upon the ravishing glimpses they had of the parlour.
'Tis not for a mere scribbler to intrude upon the chaste mysteries of the toilet. Suffice it therefore to say that, when all was completed, George Anne and Mrs. March the dresser stood back, breathless, to contemplate the work of their hands.
Mrs. Gunning, her fine brown hair piled on her head into an edifice twisted with gauze and feathers that granted her five inches more of height, looked a Roman empress--her fine bust displayed to advantage and sustaining a necklace of stage emeralds set in pinchbeck, which could not be told from the veritable jewels, so closely were they copied for George Anne from her Grace the Duchess of Bridgewater's. Her hoop was very wide, and over it a green satin brocade flowered with gold, wherein George Anne had played Lady Modish but twenty times, and so rich that 'twould serve her great-granddaughter. 'Twas ruffled at neck and elbow with Mechlin, and the girls gazed in awe at their splendid mama. 'Twas a changed woman. She expanded, she glided, she moved, as a swan floating through her native element differs from the same lurching along the bank.
But Elizabeth--O beautiful! Sure 'twas joy to see her! Her hair, agleam with gold, was rolled back and carried in massive braids that crowned and bound her head in the Grecian taste, confined by a bandeau of pearls that crossed her brow. Her Grecian robe (indeed the fair Miss Lebeau had played Calista in it) was a white satin with a fall of lace, and round her slender throat a chain of seed pearl. Mrs Bellamy knew her business. 'Twas simple, but simplicity becomes a goddess, and frills and flounces can but distract the eye from loveliness that seems native to heaven. Her mother surveyed her in a kind of amaze and then turned to Maria.
'Twas peculiar to these two fair sisters that they adorned each other and each appeared more beautiful when both were in company. Indeed't was said later that this contributed much to their triumphs. Maria now appeared in a fine India muslin embroidered in gold wheat-ears--a robe which't is to be feared Mr Sidney of the East India Company, the rich nabob of Jubblepore, had laid at the feet of George Anne in pursuance of a suit not wholly disdained. No matter! On Maria it shone like the raiment of the youngest of the angels, draping yet expressing her fair limbs with a seductive reserve that was art embellishing nature. She had a row of seed pearl like her sister, and one rose of faintest pink nestled in her virgin bosom. Her hair of burning gold was dressed in curls à la mouton, as Mrs March expressed it, and a string of pearls wove through the rich tresses.
But 'tis useless to describe beauty. As well dry a rose in a book and look for bloom and dew. It depends on bright eye and smiling lip and wordless sweetness and the fall of exquisite lashes and the tone of music and--and this poor scribbler lays down his pen and attempts no more to paint where the great artists later owned themselves vanquished.