“We’ll take them down stairs,” she told Cap. “We can dress much more comfortably in my room.”
Poking her head out to make sure Vita was not around, she tucked the velvets and laces into her arms and hurried to the next floor. Seldom had she locked the hall door, but she did so now, dismissing Cap peremptorily, for there was no need of his protection on the second floor.
“I suppose it’s too big,” she reasoned, when the little knickers were pulled up as high as the button and button hole line. Yes, it was big, this costume had been worn by a gay lady at a big country club dance, and little Nora was scarcely a sample of the personality for which the jaunty outfit had been created.
But mere size did not worry her. It was effect that she craved. The lacy blouse fell into place quite naturally, and it did look boyish, while the overblouse of black velvet completed the Fauntleroy picture.
“If the buckles would only stay buckled,” she sighed, trying for the third time to fasten the knee straps and keep them that way. It was not pretty at all to have them slink down below her knees, like an untidy schoolboy; and a pin had no possible effect on the heavy, velvety finish.
“I know,” breathed Nora, “I’ll roll them.” And she did that skillfully; for in the season just past many and many a sock had she rolled and they had stayed, although Barbara never could acquire the same knack.
It was all finally finished, and she inspected herself in the mirror, slanted to the very last angle to show the full length. A pat of the cap, a brash of the tie and a swish of the flying scarf gave the finishing touches.
Really Nora made “a perfectly stunning” little Lord Fauntleroy. Had she been more accustomed to the sayings of the day she might well have exclaimed, “All dressed up and no place to go,” but her culture admitted of no such expressive parlance. Instead, she asked herself in the looking glass: “Wonder if I dare go outside? It is so comfortable to wear this style”; and she skipped around as every other girl on earth has ever done the very moment she felt relieved of the trammel of skirts.
The morning was unusually quiet. Vita must be away picking greens, the surveyors were miles out, and there was no one but Cap to criticise. Why shouldn’t she stroll out grandly in her princely costume?
She did. The birds twittered and the rabbits scurried and the pet squirrel stood up and begged. But Nora was not feeding the animals this morning, instead, she flounced her lace sleeve in a most courtly gesture and passed on to the cedar tree grove. Cedars seemed more appropriate for velvets than did the other wild trees; besides, no underbrush grew in the cedar grove, and it was much safer for costly finery.