“And I shall be a most lovely Cleopatra,” said Susanna, in a gleeful tone. “I see myself in the dress, and mother will be delighted!”
She laughed: and her jet-black eyes twinkled merrily.
“Then you want to be Cleopatra?” said Penelope.
“Of course I do.”
“And you, Mary, you want to be Jephtha’s daughter?”
“Yes—of course.”
“And you,” she continued, turning to Cara, “you are equally desirous to be Iphigenia?”
“Of course—of course,” replied Cara.
To each girl Penelope put the same question in turn. She saw eagerness in their eyes and strong desire in their whole manner. They wished to show themselves off. They wanted to appear in the wonderful dresses—to attract the attention of the crowd of spectators, to be petted and made much of afterwards by their fathers and mothers and relations generally. In short, that moment of their lives would be a golden one. Penelope remarked these feelings, which shone out of each pair of eyes, with intense satisfaction.
“But you could,” she said, after a pause, “take the parts in some other tableaux. There are heaps of tableaux in English history and in the plays of Shakespeare. There’s the ‘Vicar of Wakefield,’ too. You could be one of his daughters—Olivia, for instance, and the other girl—I am sure I forget her name.”