She was back in a few moments.

Instead of the curl-paper there was a little, soft, dark, curly lock on her forehead.

She had also fastened the neck of her wrapper with a gold brooch.

The wrapper sloped well from her shoulders and displayed a lovely V of white neck.

She sat down opposite Horace, and the simple garment adjusted itself to her slim figure, revealing its tender outlines.
Lucy looked at Horace, and her expression was tragic, foolish, and of almost revolting wistfulness.