'Well, miss, you know you look well in anything,' says Kennedy obligingly; 'there is nothing but what becomes you; but if I might be allowed to suggest, you look lovely entirely in white.'
'I won't wear white; I hate it,' says her mistress pettishly. 'Débutantes, and brides, and corpses wear white; I think—I shall wear—black to-night.'
'Black? O Miss Mordaunt!'
'Yes; certainly. Is gay clothing so necessary to me, then?'
'Well, miss, there's no doubt but you look real handsome in black; but the other ladies—they will be so gay—and you'——
'I shall be gayer than any of them, and the greater contrast!' cries Cissy, springing to her feet. 'Come, Kennedy; despatch, despatch; I feel I shall hold my own yet.'
And Kennedy throwing herself heart and mind into her task, soon turns out the most charming picture possible.
As Miss Mordaunt enters the drawing-room she sees Halkett standing on the hearth-rug in earnest conversation with the widow, who, if there is a fire anywhere, is never any great distance from it. He has been telling her of his repulse of the night before, and is looking somewhat dejected.
'Never mind,' says Mrs Leyton kindly; 'get her alone; then you will have the advantage. I think she must have heard—or fancied—something that wounds her.'
'I do not flatter myself so far; I merely think she prefers Blake, and wishes to get rid of me,' says Halkett gloomily.