Part 41 (2/2)

”For,” said Madame, with a grand air, ”it is to do me justice. That form so magnificent is worth draping,--it will support my work to the best advantage. And persons without figures will hasten to me and entreat me for costumes, and will think that if I dress them I can make them look as well as Miladi. And they will pay!”--Madame shook her head with much shrewdness--”_Mon Dieu!_ they will pay!--and that they still look frightful will not be my fault.”

And undoubtedly Madame surpa.s.sed her usual skill in all she did for Thelma,--she took such pains, and was so successful in all her designs, that ”Miladi,” who did not as a rule show more than a very ordinary interest in her toilette, found it impossible not to admire the artistic taste, harmonious coloring, and exquisite fit of the few choice gowns supplied to her from the ”Maison Rosine”--and only on one occasion had she any discussion with the celebrated modiste. This was when Madame herself, with much pride, brought home an evening dress of the very palest and tenderest sea-green silk, showered with pearls and embroidered in silver, a perfect _chef-d'oeuvre_ of the dressmaker's art. The skirt, with its billowy train and peeping folds of delicate lace, pleased Thelma,--but she could not understand the bodice, and she held that very small portion of the costume in her hand with an air of doubt and wonderment. At last she turned her grave blue eyes inquiringly on Madame.

”It is not finished?” she asked. ”Where is the upper part of it and the sleeves?”

Madame Rosine gesticulated with her hands and smiled.

”Miladi, there is no more!” she declared. ”Miladi will perceive it is for the evening wear--it is _decolletee_--it is to show to everybody Miladi's most beautiful white neck and arms. The effect will be ravis.h.i.+ng!”

Thelma's face grew suddenly grave--almost stern.

”You must be very wicked!” she said severely, to the infinite amazement of the vivacious Rosine. ”You think I would show myself to people half clothed? How is it possible! I would not so disgrace myself! It would bring shame to my husband!”

Madame was almost speechless with surprise. What strange lady was this who was so dazzlingly beautiful and graceful, and yet so ignorant of the world's ways? She stared,--but was soon on the defensive.

”Miladi is in a little error!” she said rapidly and with soft persuasiveness. ”It is _la mode_. Miladi has perhaps lived in a country where the fas.h.i.+ons are different. But if she will ask the most amiable Sieur Bruce-Errington, she will find that her dress is quite in keeping with _les convenances_.”

A pained blush crimsoned Thelma's fair cheek. ”I do not like to ask my husband such a thing,” she said slowly, ”but I must. For I could not wear this dress without shame. I cannot think he would wish me to appear in it as you have made it--but--” She paused, and taking up the objectionable bodice, she added gently--”You will kindly wait here, madame, and I will see what Sir Philip says.”

And she retired, leaving the _modiste_ in a state of much astonishment, approaching resentment. The idea was outrageous,--a woman with such divinely fair skin,--a woman with the bosom of a Venus, and arms of a shape to make sculptors rave,--and yet she actually wished to hide these beauties from the public gaze! It was ridiculous--utterly ridiculous,--and Madame sat fuming impatiently, and sniffing the air in wonder and scorn. Meanwhile Thelma, with flus.h.i.+ng cheeks and lowered eyes, confided her difficulty to Philip, who surveyed the shocking little bodice she brought for his inspection with a gravely amused, but very tender smile.

”There certainly doesn't seem much of it, does there, darling?” he said.

”And so you don't like it?”

”No,” she confessed frankly--”I think I should feel quite undressed in it. I often wear just a little opening at the throat--but this--! Still, Philip, I must not displease you--and I will always wear what you wish, even if it is uncomfortable to myself.”

”Look here, my pet,” and he encircled her waist fondly with his arm, ”Rosine is quite right. The thing's perfectly fas.h.i.+onable,--and there isn't a woman in society who wouldn't be perfectly charmed with it. But your ideas are better than Rosine's and all society's put together. Obey your own womanly instinct, Thelma!”

”But what do _you_ wish?” she asked earnestly. ”You must tell me. It is to please you that I live.”

He kissed her. ”You want me to issue a command about the affair?” he said half laughingly.

She smiled up into his eyes. ”Yes!--and I will obey!”

”Very well! Now listen!” and he held her by both hands, and looked with sudden gravity into her sweet face--”Thelma, my wife, thus sayeth your lord and master,--despise the vulgar indecencies of fas.h.i.+on, and you will gratify me more than words can say;--keep your pure and beautiful self sacred from the profaning gaze of the mult.i.tude,--sacred to me and my love for you, and I shall be the proudest man living! Finally,”--and he smiled again--”give Rosine back this effort at a bodice, and tell her to make something more in keeping with the laws of health and modesty.

And Thelma--one more kiss! You are a darling!”

She laughed softly and left him, returning at once to the irate dressmaker who waited for her.

”I am sorry,” she said very sweetly, ”to have called you wicked! You see, I did not understand! But though this style of dress is fas.h.i.+onable, I do not wish to wear it--so you will please make me another bodice, with a small open square at the throat, and elbow-sleeves,--and you will lose nothing at all--for I shall pay you for this one just the same. And you must quite pardon me for my mistake and hasty words!”

Maladi's manner was so gracious and winning, that Madame Rosine found it impossible not to smile in a soothed and mollified way,--and though she deeply regretted that so beautiful a neck and arms were not to be exposed to public criticism, she resigned herself to the inevitable, and took away the offending bodice, replacing it in a couple of days by one much prettier and more becoming by reason of its perfect modesty.

On leaving Paris, Sir Philip had taken his wife straight home to his fine old Manor in Warwicks.h.i.+re. Thelma's delight in her new abode was unbounded--the stately oaks that surrounded it,--the rose-gardens, the conservatories,--the grand rooms, with their fine tapestries, oak furniture, and rare pictures,--the splendid library, the long, lofty drawing-rooms, furnished and decorated after the style of Louis Quinze,--all filled her with a tender pride and wistful admiration. This was Philip's home! and she was here to make it bright and glad for him!--she could imagine no fairer fate. The old servants of the place welcomed their new mistress with marked respect and evident astonishment at her beauty, though, when they knew her better, they marvelled still more at her exceeding gentleness and courtesy. The housekeeper, a stately white-haired dame, who had served the former Lady Errington, declared she was ”an angel”--while the butler swore profoundly that ”he knew what a queen was like at last!”

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