“No indeed, Miss Casalis,” interposed Parker, “Miss Cicely doesn’t wear her pretty things half enough. I am always telling her so. And besides, Miss Cicely is so neat and careful, her dresses last twice as long as most young ladies’! The whole of these,” with a regretful glance at the display of finery, “are really as good as new. The only dresses you ever do wear out, Miss Cicely,” she added, turning to her young mistress, “are your brown hollands.”
Cicely laughed. “It shows I was never meant to be a fine lady, Parker,” she said. “Mother and you get me far too many things.”
“And now there will be all new again before we know where we are,” grumbled Parker, whose mind seemed to resemble that of the gallant train-band captain’s wife; “and none of these half wore out, not to speak of several as good as new.”
A slight increase of colour in Cicely’s cheeks explained the allusion to Geneviève.
“Ah! yes, you will have all new for your trousseau without doubt,” she said to her cousin, and a curious expression flitted across her face. But Cicely did not observe it, nor did she take any notice of Geneviève’s remark. She turned to Parker and began giving her directions for the altering of the dresses that had been selected as most suitable for her cousin, Geneviève’s quick eyes and fingers meantime making voyages of discovery among the finery.
“What is this?” she exclaimed, drawing out a dress of a rich crimson colour, which was hanging in a remote corner of the wardrobe, “Velvet! Du velours de soie—et quel teint superbe! Why, it is a dress for a queen! Cicely, what a beautiful dress; it is far the most beautiful of all.”
Cicely had not been paying special attention to her chatter, but now she turned and, somewhat to Geneviève’s surprise, gently drew the folds of the dress out of her hands and replaced it in its corner.
“Parker,” she said to the maid, “you have forgotten what I told you. I wanted that dress folded away by itself—locked away.”
“I am sorry I forgot,” said Parker meekly. Geneviève felt rather offended. “Cicely has secrets I see,” she reflected maliciously. “I wonder if Mr. Fawcett knows about that dress, and why she is so fond of it.”
But she speedily forgot all about the little mystery in the interest of trying on the pretty grey silk, and submitting to Parker’s skilful nippings and pinnings.