Husband and wife hurried from the room. In the hall they found the butler just receiving a parcel left by the railway delivery-cart.
George passed the box with an exclamation and a shudder. It bore a large label, "From Worth et Cie," and was addressed to Lady Tressady. But Letty stopped short, with a sudden look of pleasure.
"You go to her. I will have this unpacked."
He went up and coaxed his mother like a child to take her soup and champagne. And presently, just as she was revived enough to talk to him, Letty appeared. Her mother-in-law frowned, but Letty came gaily up to the bed.
"There is a parcel from Paris for you," she said, smiling. "I have had it opened. Would you like it brought in?"
Lady Tressady first whimpered, and said it should go back—what did a dying woman want with such things?—then demanded greedily to see it.
Letty brought it in herself. It was a new evening gown of the softest greens and shell-pinks, fit for a bride in her first season. To see the invalid, ashen-grey, stretching out her hand to finger it was almost more than George could stand. But Letty shook out the rustling thing, put on the skirt herself that Lady Tressady might see, and paraded up and down in it, praising every cut and turning with the most ingenious ardour.
"I sha'n't wear it, of course, till after Christmas," said Lady Tressady at last, still looking at it with half-shut covetous eyes. "Isn't it darling the way the lace is put on! Put it away. George!—it's the first I've had from him this year."
She looked up at him appealingly. He stooped and kissed her.
"I am so glad you like it, mother dear. Can't you sleep now?"