"Oh, carnations are cheap—or he wouldn't get them."
"These aren't cheap, then."
The smaller box was full of white violets.
"Give them to me. No, you can't see the card. You don't deserve to. You're too cross, and besides you wouldn't like it. Do my two top hooks. Now, am I perfectly beautiful?"
Under her capable hands a pretty miracle had been going on, common enough, but always new. Ruffle above ruffle, the soft, shapeless mass of white had shaken itself into its proper lines and contours, lightly, like a bird's plumage settling itself, and with it the change that comes when a woman with the inborn, unteachable trick of wearing clothes puts on a perfect gown, had come to her slight girl's figure. It looked softer, rounder, and more lightly poised. Her throat looked whiter above the encircling folds of white. Her shy half smile was sweeter. The white violets, caught to her high girdle, were sweeter, too.
Norah surrendered, her voice husky and reluctant.
"You're too good for them."
"For the G. H. S. dance? For Willard?" Judith pretended great humility: "Nana!"
"There's others you're more than too good for. Others——"
"Nana, don't."