“And a good thing, too, if she was like some old ladies we could mention!” said Lois sharply, whereat her sister first laughed, and then sighed.
“Oh, well, it’s no use saying anything about that! What were we talking about before—Mildred’s dress? Well, there is one comfort—she always looks sweet. I dare say she will look one of the nicest there, though Mrs Newland’s friends are so smart. Don’t say anything to her about our new dresses. It might make her feel uncomfortable.”
There were no signs of discomfiture in Mildred’s manner, however, when the new dresses arrived from town a week later on. She had been romping with the children in the garden, and came dancing in through the open window of the library to find Mrs Faucit, Lady Sarah, and the two girls grouped round the table on which lay two large cardboard boxes. The lids were thrown open, the tissue paper wrappings strewn over the floor, and Mildred, looking at the contents, gave a cry of pleasure and comprehension.
“New dresses for the picnic! Oh, how lovely! Do let me look,”—and Lady Sarah’s eye-glasses went up in horrified fashion as she swung herself on to the corner of the table in her anxiety to have a good view.
The new dresses were charming, everything that the heart of girlhood could desire for the occasion; soft, creamy white, with lemon-coloured ribbons arranged in the most Frenchified style, and with big leghorn hats to match. Even Lady Sarah smiled approval, but the exclamations of the other onlookers were feeble, as compared with Mildred’s ecstatic rhapsodies.
“Oh, the darlings! Oh, the beauties! Aren’t they sweet? Look at the ducky little bows at the elbows, and the little crinkly ruchings at the neck! And the sashes!—oh, goodness, what yards of ribbon!—and yellow silk frills round the bottom—oh-h! And the hats—Bertha, you will look an angel! If I had a dress like that I should sit up all night—I’m sure I should! I could never bring myself to take it off. Oh-h!”
Mrs Faucit looked at the fair, flushed face with mingled approval and pity. “Poor, dear child!” she said to herself as she left the room in answer to a summons from a servant; “very few girls of her age would be so entirely free from envy. I wish I had ventured to order a dress for her at the same time; but I was afraid she might not like it. I wonder what she is going to wear?”
The same question had occurred to another person, and not being possessed of the same delicacy of mind as the dean’s wife, Lady Sarah saw no reason why her curiosity should not be gratified.
“And when is your dress to arrive?” she inquired. “What have you ordered for yourself, my dear?”
“I—I ordered!” Mildred fairly gasped. The idea of “ordering” anything was so supremely ridiculous. “I haven’t ordered anything!”