'Why, a room ought to be as becoming as a dress--so Mrs. Pinkerton
says. You know I saw a great deal of her at the hotel; and oh,
girls! her bedroom was the most exquisite thing you ever saw! She
had a French toilet-table, covered with pale blue silk and white
marquise lace,--perfectly lovely,--with yards and yards of robin's-
egg blue watered ribbon in bows; and on it she kept all her toilet
articles, everything in hammered silver from Tiffany's with monograms
on the back,--three or four sizes of brushes, and combs, and mirrors,
and a full manicure set. It used to take her two hours to dress; but
it was worth it. Oh, such gorgeous tea-gowns as she had! One of old
rose and lettuce was a perfect dream! She always had her breakfast
in bed, you know. I think it's delightful to have your breakfast
before you get up, and dress as slowly as you like. I wish mamma
would let me do it.'
'What does she do after she gets dressed in her rows of old lettuce--
I mean her old rows of lettuce?' asked Polly.
'Do? Why really, Polly, you are too stupid! What do you suppose she
did? What everybody else does, of course.'
'Oh!' said Polly, apologetically.
'How old is Mrs. Pinkerton?' asked Margery.
'Between nineteen and twenty. There is not three years' difference
in our ages, though she has been married nearly two years. It seems
so funny.'
'Only nineteen!' cried Bell. 'Why, I always thought that she was old
as the hills--twenty-five or thirty at the very least.
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