The crimson scarfs hanging from Eliz, the length of her own silk gown, embarrassed her; she stopped a moment on the second step, resting her burden upon one lifted knee to clutch and gather the gorgeous raiment in her hand.
'You see we put on mother's dresses, that have always been packed away in the garret.' Very simply she said this to Courthope, who stood holding a lamp to light them in their ascent.

He waited until the glinting colours of their satins, the slow motion of the burden-bearer's form, reached the top and were lost in the shadows of an open door..