Floy pitied and tried to console her, but fortunately found it necessary to say but little, as the lady talked on with scarcely a pause except for breath, and presently fell to petting and caressing her lap-dog, then to examining the dress, commenting with much satisfaction upon its beauty and probable becomingness, querying whether it could be finished that day, and consulting Floy about the style of trimming.
Floy advised a deep, heavy silk fringe to match in color, or of a little darker shade.
The Madame caught at the idea, and Mary, coming in at that moment, was sent to order the carriage that she might go at once and select it herself.
Frisky pricked up his ears, gave a short, joyous bark, ran to the window overlooking the side entrance, and jumped upon a chair whence he could see into the street.
“See that, miss?” queried the laughing Kathleen, who was present, engaged in running the sewing-machine as on the day before. “The little baste knows more’n a babby. He always rides with the Madame, an’ whin he hears the carriage ordered he’s ready for a start. He’ll stay there watchin’ now till it comes.”
“Yes,” said the Madame, overhearing the remark, “he’s the most intelligent little creature you ever saw, and the prettiest. I wouldn’t part with him for any money—the darling! Now, Mary,” as her maid re-entered the room, “dress me at once.”
“Certainly, Madame. What will you be pleased to wear?”
“That green silk suit and the green velvet hat,” answered her mistress, waddling into the dressing-room; “gloves to match, and my emerald set, ear-rings, pin, and bracelets, and a point-lace collar and sleeves. Get out one of my worked white skirts too, and a pair of silk stockings and gaiters.”
“It’s very cold, Madame; the wind from the lake cuts like a knife, and you’ll suffer in thin shoes,” Mary objected to the last clause of the order.
“Lamb’s-wool stockings, then, and kid boots.”