She said this over again when Sally came into Hildegarde's room.
"You'll tek you' death, honey."
"I'm used to it," Sally said, "and anyhow I'm not ready to die until I know whether I am going to marry Merry."
She flung this at them airily, surveying herself meanwhile in Hildegarde's mirror. Delia, doing Hildegarde's hair, remarked:
"You know right now you ain' gwine marry Mr. Merry. You wouldn't have him, not ef he axed you on his bended knees."
"Oh, but I would, Delia."
"You thinks you would," said Delia sententiously, "but I ain' known you all yo' life fo' nothin', Miss Sally."
When the two girls went down together, Crispin was waiting for them, and there were a lot of other people. The drawing-room was full of color, rose and jade and sapphire in kaleidoscope combinations as the women moved about. Miss Anne was in amethyst velvet, Mrs. Hulburt in gold brocade. Crispin had never been a part of a group like this. At college there had been dances and dinners, but the students had been a heterogeneous mass, and the dresses of the women not gorgeous. Here was perfection of line, opulence of hue, elegance balanced by exquisite and artful simplicity.
Characteristically, Crispin was not in the least embarrassed by the opulence and exquisiteness. He was much too interested. It was all like a lovely play, with the actors and actresses at close range. He stood alone
