Something--sleep, pleasure, or pious meditation--had altered overnight not only her temper but even the fleshly vehicle of its uncertain manifestations.

Her features appeared to have adjusted themselves to the size of her face, and she spoke quite affably, though still with her manner of addressing an inferior.
"I want you to show me something that will really suit me," she said.

"I think the grayish-green cloth from Blandin might be copied in silver, but I should like you to see it on me.

I know you will tell me what you really think." Her voice faltered and deepened to a note of pathos.
"Poor woman," thought Gabriella, "it must be hard for her to get people to tell her what they really think," and she added exultantly while she went for the gowns: "If I satisfy her now, I am saved with Madame!" When she returned, with the green cloth in one hand and a charming lavender crpe tea-gown in the other, she approached Mrs.Pletheridge with the manner of intelligent sympathy, of serene and smiling competence, which had made her so valuable to Madame as a saleswoman.
She had the air not only of seeking to please, but of knowing just how to go about the difficult matter of pleasing.

With the eye of an artist in dress, she analyzed Mrs.Pletheridge's possibilities; and softening here and there her pronounced features, succeeded presently in producing a charming and harmonious whole.