"Well, upon my word, Kitty!" said a voice from her husband's dressing-room.
Kitty turned impetuously.
"Do you like it?" she cried. Ashe approached. She lifted her horn to her mouth and stood tiptoe. The movement was enchanting; it had in it the youth and freshness of spring woods; it suggested mountain distances and the solitudes of high valleys. Intoxication spoke in Ashe's pulses; he wished the maids had been far away that he might have taken the goddess in his very human arms. Instead of which he stood lazily smiling.
"What Endymion are you calling?" he asked her. "Kitty, you are a dream!"
Kitty pirouetted, then suddenly stopped short and held out a foot.
"Look at those silk things, sir. Nobody but Fanchette could have made them look anything but a botch. But they spoil the dress. And all to please mother and Mrs. Grundy!"
"I like them. I suppose—the nearest you could get to buskins? You would have preferred ankles au naturel? I don't think you'd have been admitted, Kitty."
"Shouldn't I? And so few people have feet they can show!" sighed Kitty, regretfully.
Ashe's eyes met those of the maid, who was trying to hide her smiles, and he and she both laughed.