"Did Wilson feed him?" Kitty flung her the question as she bent,
alternately frowning and jubilant, over the creation before her.
"Yes, my lady. It was quite a little fellow. He said his legs were just
run off his feet," said the girl, growing confused as the moon-robe
unfolded.
"Poor wretch!" said Kitty, carelessly. "I'm glad I'm not an
errand--Blanche! you know Fanchette may be an old demon, but she
hasgot taste! Just look at these folds, and the way she's put on the
pearls! Now then--make haste!"
Off flew the peignoir, and, with the help of the excited maids, Kitty
slipped into her dress. Ten times, over did she declare that it was
hopeless, that it didn't fit in the least, that it wasn't one bit what
she had ordered, that she couldn't and wouldn't go out in it, that it
was simply scandalous, and Fanchette should never be paid a penny. Her
maids understood her, and simply went on pulling, patting, fastening, as
quickly as their skilled fingers could work, till the last fold fell
into its place, and the under-housemaid stepped back with clasped hands
and an "Oh, my lady!" couched in a note of irrepressible ecstasy.
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