She dropped her candle and curtsied to the Countess's voice.

The Countess desired her to enter, and all in a tremble Polly crept in.

Her air of guilt made the Countess thrill.

She had merely called her in to extract daily gossip.
The corner of the letter sticking up under Polly's neck attracted her strangely, and beginning with the familiar, 'Well, child,' she talked of things interesting to Polly, and then exhibited the pic-nic dress.
It was a lovely half-mourning; airy sorrows, gauzy griefs, you might imagine to constitute the wearer.

White delicately striped, exquisitely trimmed, and of a stuff to make the feminine mouth water! Could Polly refuse to try it on, when the flattering proposal met her ears?
Blushing, shame-faced, adoring the lady who made her look adorable, Polly tried it on, and the Countess complimented her, and made a doll of her, and turned her this way and that way, and intoxicated her.
'A rich husband, Polly, child! and you are a lady ready made.' Infamous poison to poor Polly; but as the thunder destroys small insects, exalted schemers are to be excused for riding down their few thousands.