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  She was borne off by Meg in a stylish barouche, and, having miscalled it a landaulet, learned her first lesson. A barouche, Meg told her, was of the first stare of fashion; but a landaulet, for inscrutable reasons, was a dowdy vehicle, only fit for old ladies to ride in. ‘I will remember,’ she said. ‘I shall have a great deal to learn, because I have never been to London in my life. But I mean to apply myself!’

  ‘Oh, you will be on the town in less than no time!’ said Meg, adding naïvely: ‘Particularly if you are to stay with me, because I’m all the crack!’

  ‘I can see that you are,’ said Kitty, in all sincerity.

  Eight

  It was as well for Mr Standen that Miss Charing had been bred in the habits of the strictest economy, for his sister, entering wholeheartedly into his amiable plot to provide Kitty with a much more expensive wardrobe than had been contemplated by Mr Penicuik, would have had no scruple in recommending the purchase of at least half-a-dozen of the ravishing gowns displayed by Mme Fanchon. It had not occurred to her that Miss Charing might demand to be told the prices of the dresses she looked at, for it had already been agreed between them that the dressmakers and the milliners should be instructed to send in their bills to Lady Buckhaven, whom they knew so well; and nothing was more unlikely than that Mme Fanchon would of her own volition mention anything so ungenteel as a price. But from the moment of alighting from the barouche in Burton Street, and entering the portals of one of London’s most renowned modistes, Kitty was suspicious. Ushered into a showroom carpeted with Aubusson and furnished with gilded, spindle-legged chairs, and a multitude of tall mirrors, she felt unhappily certain that any gown exhibited in such opulent surroundings would be quite above her touch. She tried to whisper as much in Meg’s ear, but Meg only laughed, and said: ‘Fiddle!’ Then the great Mme Fanchon herself appeared, all smiles and curtsies, and, having been informed that she was to have the privilege of supplying her ladyship’s cousin with several dresses, suitable for a young lady of quality about to come-out into the world, at once went into conference with my lady, while Kitty stared with round, envious eyes at a grand ball-dress of lace over white satin, which was displayed upon a stand at one end of the room. She had not fully assimilated its glories when Meg rejoined her, but Meg, observing the direction of her gaze, said: ‘Not lace! When you are married you may wear such a dress, but Mama would never allow me to do so when I came-out.’

  ‘Oh, no! I was only thinking how beautiful it is! I am sure it must be most dreadfully dear!’

  ‘Well, yes!’ assented Meg, with a tiny giggle. She had purchased just such a grande-toilette herself, not three months ago, and it had taken all the cajolery of which she was capable to reconcile the most indulgent husband alive to a staggering demand from Mme Fanchon for three hundred pounds. ‘Lace is a little dear! But girls who are just out, you know, always wear muslins, and cambrics, with perhaps one or two silken gowns for important occasions. Now, don’t get into a pucker, Kitty! We shall contrive famously, I promise you! I thought it best to tell Fanchon you were my cousin, since you don’t mean to advertise your engagement quite at once. And—you won’t take a pet?—I said that you had lived very retired, with a strict and old-fashioned guardian, because I could see that she was staring to see such an outmoded bonnet and pelisse. She perfectly understands—and it is quite true! I don’t mean that I wouldn’t have said it had it not been true, for I hope I am not such a zany, but it gives one the most agreeable feeling to know that one really has spoken the truth!’

  There was no time for more; Mme Fanchon, despatching two underlings with certain instructions, came up to the ladies, and at once began to discuss with Meg such mysteries as French bead edges, worked muslin jaconet, spider-gauze, ribbon-braces, and Zephyr cloaks. And then Miss Charing tumbled headlong into the world of make-believe which had for so long beguiled her leisure hours; for the underlings came back carrying dresses—dresses for every occasion, figured, embroidered, flounced, and braided; adorned with blond lace, or knots of ribbon; some embellished with spangles, some with pearl rosettes, some with silver fringes. They were the garments Miss Charing had dreamed of, and never thought to wear; and it was small wonder that she released her clutch on the workaday world. The season had not begun, and no other clients had invaded the showroom: Lady Buckhaven decreed that the gowns should be tried on immediately. Kitty, standing before a mirror, first in an elegant walking-dress of amber crape, then in a demi-toilette of mulled muslin, next in a satin ball-dress, with a pelerine of fluted velvet cast over her shoulders, saw herself transformed, and lost her head.

  But she came to earth too soon for Lady Buckhaven. Just as her ladyship was saying: ‘Then we are decided, are we not, love, on the sea-green, and the Berlin silk with the floss trimming? And the Merino pelisse, with the round cape?’ she turned her head towards Madame, and said in a voice of strong resolution: ‘What, if you please, is the price of this dress I have on?’

  Madame, unaware of Lady Buckhaven’s frantic attempt to catch her eye, told her. The make-believe world collapsed in ruins; one last glance Kitty allowed herself at the mirrored vision of a modish young lady in rose-pink gauze; then she turned away, and said, with a quivering lip: ‘I am afraid it is too dear.’

  Madame, looking towards Lady Buckhaven too late, realized that she had vexed one of her more valued patronesses, read the message in those dagger-darting blue eyes, and exerted herself to make a recovery. Gently turning Miss Charing to face the mirror again, she pointed out to her the many excellencies of the gown, and in a spate of volubility contrived to say that it was more economical to purchase one expensive dress than three cheaper ones, that the sight of mademoiselle in such a toilette must infallibly strike the beholder like a coup de foudre, that she believed she had confused its price with that of the cerulean blue satin which had not become mademoiselle, and, finally, that to oblige so good a customer as miladi she would make a reduction.

  Kitty allowed herself to be persuaded. Though she must rigorously curtail further expenditure, she could not bring herself to spare one person at least this clap of thunder. If she went in rags for the rest of her days, Mr Westruther should see this lovely vision in rose-pink, and know what he had allowed to slip through his careless, cruel fingers.

  And after that it seemed as though perhaps she could afford to buy the sea-green walking-dress, and the Merino pelisse to wear over it—neither as expensive as she had feared they must be. But she retained enough sanity to shake her head when it was pointed out to her that she would bitterly regret it if she neglected to buy a half-dress of Italian crape.

  ‘Kitty,’ said Lady Buckhaven, struck by a brilliant idea, ‘if you do not mean to buy it, I will, because it is just what will suit me! Only I thought perhaps I ought not, because only last week I purchased one in bronze-green, which Mama says is a colour I should never wear, so of course I shan’t, because no one knows better than Mama what truly becomes one. But I have just had the most famous notion! I will give you the bronze-green, and buy this one for myself, and that will make everything right!’

  In this very reasonable way the problem was solved to everyone’s satisfaction; Madame promised to deliver the band-boxes in Berkeley Square that very day; and the ladies, each feeling that she had practised a piece of clever economy, sallied forth to visit a series of milliners and haberdashers. Kitty, who had been thinking deeply, astonished her hostess by saying that if she might be put in the way of visiting a linen-draper she would buy such materials as she liked, and contrive to make herself gowns in imitation of what she had seen at Fanchon’s. Like any other young lady of gentle breeding, Meg could embroider prettily, and had even been known to hem a seam, but the idea of making gowns for herself had never so much as occurred to her. When she learned that Kitty had been in the habit of doing so for years she began to think that life at Arnside must be bleak indeed, and in a rush of warm-heartedness said: ‘Well, you shan’t do so in my house, you poo