"You are stunning," said Isabel, knocking lightly on the open door. "For myself, I thought it unnecessary to change my linen frock." As she spoke she threw back a coat of sable. "I thought I might go as I am, for I shall not enter the house. You have not been with Reginald, so of course there is not the slightest reason for not going in at a time like this. You can give Father Barry my lilies, and ask him to see me for a few moments outside."
"Simplicity becomes you," Mrs. Grace acknowledged. "You really look well without the slightest effort. I have always been improved by good clothes; even when I was a girl I shone in the latest styles. I do love up-to-date gowns." She ran a comb through her fluffy pompadour, which should have been silver but was counterfeit gold.
"Good gracious, Isabel, how your color has come back!" she enviously exclaimed. "When Reginald first took sick you were ghostly; now I believe you are fresher than ever. I can't understand you. Being shut away from everything has actually done you good!"
Mrs. Doan perceived the drift of her aunt's compliment. "You are certainly stunning in your new gown," she answered. "And you know I wish to get back to Reggie as soon as possible. Will you not come?"
The older woman moved slowly from the mirror. "About the flowers," Isabel went on; "only mine were sent—the lilies. The wreath you ordered will not be finished until to-morrow in time for service at the church. Grimes wrote me, explaining that the piece was so large that it could not be delivered sooner."
Mrs. Grace accepted a disappointment. "To-morrow will answer. I wish the wreath to be perfect." She followed her niece downstairs and outside to the waiting carriage. It was still cold, but the blizzard was dead in a shroud of stars. Mrs. Grace settled expansively, while Isabel protected her lilies as best she could.
"It is, after all, fortunate that my wreath was not sent," the aunt affirmed. "We never could have taken it inside, and Thomas might have objected to minding it on the box. When I asked you to telephone about it I did not realize how crammed a coupe is. The piece will be wonderful in the church—pink carnations, orchids, and maidenhair ferns. I am sure it will be the biggest thing of the kind Grimes has ever sent out. I preferred a cross, but so many were already ordered that I decided to have a wreath. I do hope Father Barry will like the color—pink suits his dear mother much better than white; don't you think so?"
Mrs. Grace judged grief by circumference and perpendicular measurement. It seemed as fitting to send her priest a wreath as large as a wagon wheel as it had been incumbent to wear the longest crape veil procurable during two distinct periods of widowhood. Isabel's armful of lilies struck her as shockingly unconventional, not even a ribbon confined the long green stems; and to Mrs. Grace this falling away from custom was highly amusing. But Isabel was Isabel. One never dared to count upon what she would do. Individuality was too strenuous for Mrs. Grace. Besides every one paid for good form, nowadays, while it was much easier to adopt accepted practice than to run the risk of appearing eccentric. Original people were generally poor—too "hard up" to be altogether proper.
"I should think you might have tied your flowers with white gauze and put them in a box," she said bluntly.
"Father Barry will like them as they are," Mrs. Doan answered.