"Don't you think I'm perfectly beautiful?" she demanded. "If you really love me, why not tell me so?"
"Your colour's good." Judith pressed a delicately flushed cheek to Norah's, and attempted a butterfly kiss, which she evaded grimly. "Good enough—healthy and natural."
"Oh, no. I made it. Oh, with hot water and then cold, I mean. Nana, don't begin about rouge. Don't be silly. That red stuff in the box on mother's dresser is only nail paste, truly."
"Who sent the flowers?"
"Look and see."
"Much you care, if you'll let me look."
"Do you want me to care?"
"Much you care about the flowers or the party."
Judith had caught up the alluring dress without a second glance, and slipped it expertly over her head, and was jerking capably at the fastenings.
"With the spoiled airs of you, and Willard Nash sending to Wells for flowers, when his father clerked in a drygoods store at his age——"