"Lately," said Raoul, "one of my cousins—she often applies to me—consulted me about a dress for a ball at Nice, during the carnival. This is what I advised her. See, I draw at the same time—look."
Oh, how she did look!
"I am going to try to make myself well understood. A foundation of smooth white satin, clinging, very clinging—blue, I adore blue."
That pained her; she disliked blue.
"Yes, very clinging; my cousin has a delightful figure, and can stand it."
He took Martha's figure in with a hasty glance, and the glance seemed to say, "You could, too." She understood and blushed, charmed with that delicate flattery. Raoul continued:
"Pale, very pale blue satin. Then on my foundation I threw an over-dress of pompadour lace of very soft tones: greens, pinks, mauves, cream, and azure. Very large sleeves with a double puff of blue velvet, wristlets of Venetian point. Am I clear?"
"Oh, very clear, very clear."
And in an excited voice she repeated:
"A double puff of blue velvet, with wristlets of Venetian point."