Immediately I roused Pelleas.
“Pelleas!” I cried, “what do you suppose that dear child can be married in?”
Pelleas awoke with a logical mind.
“In the parlour, I thought,” said he.
“But what will she wear, Pelleas?” I inquired feverishly; “what can she wear? I don’t suppose the poor child—”
“I thought she looked very well to-night,” he submitted sleepily; “couldn’t she wear that?” And drifted into dreams.
Wear that! The little tight black frock in which she served. Really, for a man who is adorable, Pelleas at times can seem stupid enough, though he never really is stupid.
I lay for a little while looking out the high window at the Paddington stars which some way seemed unlike town stars. And on a sudden I smiled back at them, and lay smiling at them for a long time. For little Katinka was very nearly my size and I knew what she was to wear at her wedding. My white lady’s-cloth gown.
As soon as her work was done next morning I called her to my room. It was eleven o’clock and she was to be married at twelve.
“Katinka,” said I solemnly, “what are you going to wear, child, to be married in?”