"They weren't foolish, my lady," said Blanche, sullenly, with averted eyes.
"They were!" cried Kitty. "Of course, I'm a vixen—I always was. But you know, Blanche, I'm not always as bad as I have been lately. Very soon I shall be quite charming again—you'll see!"
"I dare say, my lady." Blanche went on sorting and arranging the lingerie she had taken out of the drawer.
Kitty sat down beside her, nursing a bare foot which was crossed over the other.
"You know how I abused you about my hair, Blanche? Well, Mrs. Alcot said, that very night, she never saw it so well done. She thought it must be Pierrefitte's best man. Wasn't it hellish of me? I knew quite well you'd done it beautifully."
The maid said nothing, but a tear fell on one of Kitty's night-dresses.
"And you remember the green garibaldi—last week? I just loathed it—because you'd forgotten that little black rosette."
"No!" said Blanche, looking up; "your ladyship had never ordered it."
"I did—I did! But never mind. Two of my friends have wanted to copy it, Blanche. They wouldn't believe it was done by a maid. They said it had such style. One of them would engage you to-morrow if you really want to go—"
A silence.