When she has fretted and worried through the process of dressing, and slapped the face of one maid, and scolded the other one into floods of tears, she sends for her mother to come into the dressing-room.
There is a little delay, and then Mrs. Cleveland sails in, gorgeous in crimson brocade and rubies, her black eyes shining with triumphant satisfaction at her own really fine appearance. But Ivy, absorbed in her own self, has no admiration to spare for her mother.
"I sent for you, mamma, to ask you how I look," she says. "These stupid women have worried me into a fever. They can do nothing right. Tell me, do you think any of these proud, titled dames will outshine me in the ball-room to-night?"
Mrs. Cleveland's glance roves critically over the resplendent figure. All the appliances of wealth and art cannot hide the fretful, ill-natured look on the small, thin face, nor the shrewish light in the pale-blue eyes.
"Your dress is faultless—I do not believe anyone will be more magnificent than you," she answers; "but try to look more complaisant, do, Ivy. You have no idea how that fretful look mars the beauty of your face. Remember you will have some formidable rivals to-night. The grandest and most beautiful women in London will be at Lady Spencer's ball."
"I am as pretty as any of them," Mrs. Noble cries, irascibly. "I don't see why I am to be cautioned against my looks so much. An angel would lose her temper. There was Leslie to-day, telling me to look for my laurels, for the beauty of last season would be there, and carry all before her?"
"The Countess of Fairvale—yes, I have heard that she would be there," Mrs. Cleveland answers. "I am quite curious to see her. She is as lovely as a dream, they say, a dark-eyed blonde with golden hair."
"Leslie saw her portrait at Delany's—the great artist, you know," Mrs. Noble answers. "Would you believe he had the insolence to tell me she reminded him of that wretched creature—Vera Campbell?"
"She had dark eyes and fair hair, you remember," Mrs. Cleveland answers, carelessly.
"Yes, but the idea of comparing her to a great beauty like this Lady Fairvale—that girl who was no better than a servant!" Mrs. Noble cries, indignantly.