A voice of agony from below responded.
"Tag has come off my lace."
"Oh!" A pause of consternation; then, encouragingly, "try a hair-pin."
"It's all right now. I have actually found my bodkin. I shan't be five minutes."
"Five minutes! My dear child, Osmond has actually gone for the cab!" cried Jac, in tones tragic enough to suit the most lamentable occasion.
"Jac, come here, and don't make such a fuss," said the calm voice of Hilda, as she emerged from her room, ready down to the minutest detail, fan, gloves, and wrap over her arm.
With a scream of joy at such unlooked-for relief, Jac darted into her room again, and her slender form was soon encased by her sister's deft fingers in its neatly-fitting fresh and captivating bodice.
"What a wonder your tags are not both off! They generally are," was Hilda's withering comment, as she performed her task.
"Yes, it is a wonder, isn't it?" returned Jacqueline, complacently. "Oh, there you are, Sal. I'm ready now, so you can go back to your beloved Wyn."
"You can't think 'ow nice Miss Wyn looks to-night," observed Sally, as she busied herself in collecting some of the scattered articles of wearing apparel which strewed the floor of Jacqueline's small chamber.