The wonderful ivory-colored house, built in the fashion of the Italian Renaissance, was now coming into view with hundreds of low-growing evergreen shrubs close at its base. The house itself was lighted with golden, shaded lights. To one side was the Italian garden, where the girls had had tea with the Princess several afternoons before. It was also lighted, but hardly discernible now from the driveway.
By the Princess' orders, Ruth and the three Ranch girls were shown immediately to Jean's bedroom, which was apart from the dressing rooms provided for her other guests.
There Jean was waiting for them in her fancy costume and in a delicious state of excitement. As her door opened, the newcomers, forgetting themselves altogether, gave a cry of surprised admiration and were then curiously silent.
Jean had been standing in front of a long, gold-framed mirror, and now, turning swiftly, moved in their direction. Her costume was of the palest pink. The little bodice was of pink silk and pink chiffon, simply made and cut with a girlishly rounded neck, trimmed with a narrow edging of old lace. But from her silk girdle the skirt showed a wonderful arrangement of chiffon drapery, falling below her feet into a slightly pointed train at the back. She wore pink sandals bound with pink ribbons.
All this Ruth and the three girls observed in the instant that she ran to greet them. But the next moment, swinging slowly around on one lightly poised toe that the full effect of her appearance might be disclosed, between Jean's shoulders could be seen a tiny pair of butterfly wings. Her dark hair was parted low over her forehead and drawn into a loose knot high toward the back of her head. The costume was a lovely one, and Jean looked exquisite in it.
"Can you guess whom I represent?" she asked shyly, abashed by the admiration of her own family.
In answer Jack did something unusual between the two cousins, who were not usually as demonstrative with each other as with Ruth or with Olive and Frieda. For suddenly she leaned over, and holding Jean's chin in her white gloved hand kissed her, afterwards studying her face closely.
"I think I can guess, Jean," she returned. "I have been reading so much mythology lately, besides seeing so many famous statues. Your butterfly wings tell me that you are Psyche. I remember your story. Psyche was the daughter of a king and so beautiful that Venus, the goddess of beauty, grew jealous of her and sent her son Cupid to punish her for her presumption. But Cupid wounded himself with his own arrow and so fell in love with Psyche. There is a great deal more to the story, of course; afterwards Psyche and Cupid quarreled and for many years she had to wander around the world performing difficult tasks before being reunited with her love again. Psyche is the Greek name for soul and a butterfly the ancient emblem of the soul. Somehow you don't look like yourself tonight, Jean," here Jack hesitated; "you are like a spirit. Please don't be finding your fate too soon and so flying away from us."
But although Jean blushed and seemed for half a second troubled by her cousin's suggestion, she shook her head and began helping Frieda remove her wraps. When the blue cloak and the blue veil were thrown aside, the youngest of the Ranch girls stepped into the center of the room.
"Do I look almost as well as Jean?" she inquired earnestly. "I thought my costume so pretty when we left the hotel. But now that I have seen hers—"