“How beautifully you do up your hair,” said Rose.
Lucy cast an appreciative glance at herself in the glass. The wine had deepened the glow on her cheeks. Her eyes were more brilliant. She pulled her hair a little over one temple, and looked at herself with entire satisfaction. Lucy had beautiful neck and arms, unexpectedly plump for a girl so apparently slender. Her skin was full of rosy color, too. She gazed at the superb curve of her shoulders rising above the dainty lace of her corset-cover, and smiled undisguisedly.
“I wish my neck was as plump as yours,” said Rose.
“Yes, she has a nice, plump neck,” said Mrs. Ayres. While the words showed maternal pride, the tone never relaxed from its nervous anxiety.
Lucy's smile vanished suddenly. “Well, what if it is plump?” said she. “What is the use of it? A girl living here in East Westland can never wear a dress to show her neck. People would think she had gone out of her mind.”
Rose laughed. “I have some low-neck gowns,” said she, “but I can't wear them, either. Maybe that is fortunate for me, my neck is so thin.”
“You will wear them in other places,” said Lucy. “You won't stay here all your days. You will have plenty of chances to wear your low-neck gowns.” She spoke again in her unnaturally high voice. She turned towards her closet to get her dress.
“Lucy!” said Mrs. Ayres.
“Well, it is the truth,” said Lucy. “Don't preach, mother. If you were a girl, and somebody told you your neck was pretty, and you knew other girls had chances to wear low-neck dresses, you wouldn't be above feeling it a little.”
“My neck was as pretty as yours when I was a girl, and I never wore a low-neck dress in my life,” said Mrs. Ayres.