'I think it's lovely,' said Lucy in an embarrassed voice.

'And I just don't know how to thank you--indeed I don't.' She was standing inside the door of Mrs.Burgoyne's room, arrayed in the white crepe gown with the touches of pale green and vivid black that Eleanor had designed for her.

Its flowing elegance made her positively a stranger to herself.

The two maids moreover who had attired her had been intent upon a complete, an indisputable perfection.

Her hat had been carried off and retrimmed, her white gloves, her dainty parasol, the bunch of roses at her belt--everything had been thought for; she had been allowed a voice in nothing.