It seems twenty instead of six years since I
had my arms around you to music and I'm not going to wait any longer.
Everybody is there and they can't all dance with Miss Chester."
That settled it--I couldn't let a visiting girl be danced to death. Of
course I had planned to make a dignified debut under my own roof, backed
up by the presence of ancestral and marital rosewood, silver and
mahogany, as a widow should, but _duty_ called me to de-weed myself
amidst the informality of an impromptu dance at the little town hotel.
And in the fifteen minutes Tom gave me I de-weeded to some purpose and
flowered out to still more. I never do anything by halves.
In that--that--trousseau old Rene had made me there was one, what she
called "simple" lingerie frock. And it looked just as simple as the
check it called for, a one and two ciphers back of it. It was of linen
as sheer as a cobweb, real lace and tiny delicious incrustations of
embroidery. It fitted in lines that melted into curves, had enticements
in the shape of a long sash and a dangerous breast-knot of shimmery
blue, the color of my eyes, and I looked new-born in it.
I'm glad that poor Mr. Carter was so stern with me about rats and things
in my hair, now that they are out of style, for I've got lots of my own
left in consequence of not wearing other peoples'.
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