Part 14 (2/2)
There was an irrepressible chuckle from the window embrasure, where, concealed by the long, dark-red curtains, Jane was curled, with a book, and a half-sucked orange.
Mrs. Deacon turned swiftly, her lorgnette levelled on the younger Miss Lambert like a microscope.
”Ah, Jane!” she observed a little coldly. Jane stood up respectfully, concealing her vulgar orange under her pinafore. ”What are you laughing at, my dear?” asked Mrs. Deacon suspiciously.
”I thought it would be funny for Amelia to go as a race-horse,” replied Jane, simply, quite at her ease under Mrs. Deacon's prolonged stare.
Amelia, who took herself very seriously, and hated to appear in a ridiculous light even for a moment, said rather indignantly,
”A race-horse! Sappho was a poetess.”
”Ah, of course!” said Mrs. Deacon hastily, ”that will be charming. And _so_ well chosen. How will you signify yourself?”
”I am going to wear a simple Grecian robe of white muslin, with laurel leaves in my hair. And I shall carry a lyre,” replied Amelia. ”I thought I would let my hair hang loose.”
”Ravis.h.i.+ng! Simply ravis.h.i.+ng!” cried Mrs. Deacon in perfect raptures.
”So simple. And after all, is there anything like simplicity?”
”How will you get a lyre?” asked the practical Annie Lee.
”I shall try to make one out of card-board and gold paper.”
”Or you could borrow old Mr. Poindexter's banjo,” suggested Jane, gravely. ”That would really be better, because you _could_ tw.a.n.g on it.”
Amelia did not deign to reply to this remark.
”What are you going to wear, Lily?” Elise put in hurriedly, throwing a reproving look at Jane.
Lily glanced at her mother.
”I wish I could go as-as a Spanish dancer!” she said timidly.
”A Spanish dancer, Lily!” cried Mrs. Deacon. ”Indeed I could not permit anything of the sort! No. But it seems to me that it would be very delightful if you should affect a character very similar to Amelia's.
Why would it not be sweet for you to go together as the Two Muses, the one fair, the other brunette, representing, as it were, the poetical talent of Frederickstown? I would suggest, too, that each of you recite some little poem of her own composition. Lily, I must find that alb.u.m.”
And with this, Mrs. Deacon hastened from the room.
Lily looked distressed. She was terribly shy, and the thought of having her poor little verses publicly read and appraised, dyed her smooth face, with one of her frequent blushes.
”I _would_ like to go as a Spanish Dancer, though,” she said, presently, biting off a thread with her little white teeth, ”I don't know why, but I do. I'd like to wear a comb in my hair, and a black fan, and _scarlet heels_!”
”You'd look lovely. I'm sure if you beg hard, your mother would let you,” wheedled Annie Lee. Lily shook her head.
”I don't think so. And I'm afraid mamma thinks its awfully bold of me even to think of such a thing.”
”There's nothing bold about a Spanish dancer. Just das.h.i.+ng,” said Dolly.
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