“Oh dear!” said Evelyn, lying back in her chair and going off into one peal of laughter after another. “You really kill me, Jas, with your silly ways. It was fun to see Sylvia when she spoke like that. And didn’t she take a rise out of you! And was not your pecker up! Oh, it was killing—killing!”
“I am surprised to hear you talk, Miss Evelyn, as you do. You have already forgotten your poor mother and what she said I was to be to you.”
“I have not forgotten her, Jas; but I mean to have great fun with Sylvia, and whether you like it or not you will have to lump it. Oh, I say, she has come back!—Well, Sylvia? Why, you have got a lovely dress hanging over your arm!”
“It is the best I could get,” said Sylvia. “I went to Audrey’s wardrobe and took it out. I did not ask her leave; she was not in the room. There were numbers of dresses, all hanging on pegs, and I took this one. See, it is only India muslin, and it can be washed and done up beautifully. I am determined to have my one happy evening without being docked of any of it, and I could not come down in my own frock. See, Evelyn; do you think it will do?”
“It looks rather raggy,” said Evelyn, gazing at the white India muslin, with its lovely lace and chiffon and numerous little tucks, with small favor; “but I suppose it is better than nothing.”
“I borrowed this white sash too,” said Sylvia, “and those shoes and stockings. I am certain to be found out. I am certain never to be allowed to come to the Castle again; but I mean to have one really great evening of grand fun.”
“And I won’t help you to dress,” said Jasper.
“But you will, Jasper, because I order it,” cried the imperious little Evelyn. “Only,” she added, “you must dress me first; and then, while you are helping Sylvia to look as smart as she can in that old rag, I will strut up and down before the glass and try to imagine myself a bride and the owner of Wynford Castle.”
Jasper was, after all, too much afraid of Evelyn not to yield to her will, and the dressing of the extraordinary girl began. She was very particular about the arranging of her hair, and insisted on having a dash of powder on her face; finally, she found herself in the satin robe with its magnificent adornings. Her hair was once again piled on the top of her head, a wreath of stephanotis surrounding it, and she stood in silent ecstasy gazing at her image in the glass.
It was now Sylvia’s turn to be appareled for the festive occasion, and Jasper at first felt cross and discontented as she took down the girl’s masses of raven-black hair and began to brush them out; but soon the magnificence of the locks, which were tawny in places, and brightened here and there with threads of almost gold, interested her so completely that she could not rest until she had made what she called the best of Sylvia’s head.