“You have the great art of looking lovely in the simplest things. But some day you are going to wear a frock that I have for you.” He told her about the silver and blue creation he had bought in Chicago. “Now and then I take it out and look at it. I’ve put it in your room, Jane, and it is waiting for you.”
She thought now of the blue and silver gown, as Sophy said, “Miss Jane, I done pressed that w’ite chiffon of yours twel it hardly hangs together.”
“I’ll wear it once more, Sophy. I’m having a sewing woman next week.”
With the old white chiffon she wore a golden rose or two—and sat at Frederick’s right, while on the other end of the great table, Cousin Annabel weighed her in the balance.
Jane knew she was being weighed. Cousin Annabel was so blue-blooded that it showed in the veins of her hands and nose—and her hair was dressed with a gray transformation which quite overpowered her thin little face with its thin little nose.
As a matter of fact, Cousin Annabel felt that Frederick had taken leave of his senses. What could he see in this short-haired girl—who hadn’t a jewel, except the one he had given her?
Jane wore Towne’s ring, hidden, on a ribbon around her neck. “Some day I’ll let everybody see it,” she had said, “but not now.”
“You act as if you were ashamed of it.”
“I’m not. But Cinderella must wait until the night of the ball.”