"It really seemed to be the only one that suited her ladyship," said the
maid, in a deprecating voice.
"I dare say it will look very well," said Lady Tranmore. "And Fanchette
is to make it?"
"If her ladyship is not too late," said the maid, smiling. "But she has
taken such a long time to make up her mind--"
"And Fanchette, of course, is driven to death. All the world seems to
have gone mad about this ball."
Lady Tranmore shrugged her shoulders in a slight disgust. She was not
going. Since her elder son's death she had had no taste for spectacles
of the kind. But she knew very well that fashionable London was talking
and thinking of nothing else; she heard that the print-room of the
British Museum was every day besieged by an eager crowd of fair ladies,
claiming the services of the museum officials from dewy morn till eve;
that historic costumes and famous jewels were to be lavished on the
affair; that those who were not invited had not even the resource of
contempt, so unquestioned and indubitable was the prospect of a really
magnificent spectacle; and that the dress-makers of Paris and London, if
they survived the effort, would reap a marvellous harvest.
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