The Eagle's Shadow

  VIII

  That evening, after proper deliberation, "Celestine," Miss Hugonincommanded, "get out that little yellow dress with the little redbandanna handkerchiefs on it; and for heaven's sake, stop pullingmy hair out by the roots, unless you want a _raving_ maniac on yourhands, Celestine!"

  Whereby she had landed me in a quandary. For how, pray, is it possiblefor me, a simple-minded male, fittingly to depict for you the clothesof Margaret?--the innumerable vanities, the quaint devices, thepleasing conceits with which she delighted to enhance her comeliness?The thing is beyond me. Let us keep discreetly out of her wardrobe,you and I.

  Otherwise, I should have to prattle of an infinity of mysteries--ofher scarfs, feathers, laces, gloves, girdles, knots, hats, shoes,fans, and slippers--of her embroideries, rings, pins, pendants,ribbons, spangles, bracelets, and chains--in fine, there would be noend to the list of gewgaws that went to make Margaret Hugonin evenmore adorable than Nature had fashioned her. For when you come tothink of it, it takes the craft and skill and life-work of a thousandmen to dress one girl properly; and in Margaret's case, I protest thatevery one of them, could he have beheld the result of their unitedlabours, would have so gloried in his own part therein that therewould have been no putting up with any of the lot.

  Yet when I think of the tiny shoes she affected--patent-leather onesmostly, with a seam running straight up the middle (and you may guessthe exact date of our comedy by knowing in what year these shoes weremodish); the string of fat pearls she so often wore about her round,full throat; the white frock, say, with arabesques of blue all overit, that Felix Kennaston said reminded him of Ruskin's tombstone; orthat other white-and-blue one--_decollete_, that was--which I swearseraphic mantua-makers had woven out of mists and the skies of June:when I remember these things, I repeat, almost am I tempted to becomea boot-maker and a lapidary and a milliner and, in fine, an adeptin all the other arts and trades and sciences that go to make awell-groomed American girl what she is--the incredible fruitof grafted centuries, the period after the list of Time'sachievements--just that I might describe Margaret to you properly.

  But the thing is beyond me. I leave such considerations, then, toCelestine, and resolve for the future rigorously to eschew all suchgauds. Meanwhile, if an untutored masculine description will contentyou--

  Margaret, I have on reliable feminine authority, was one of the veryfew blondes whose complexions can carry off reds and yellows.This particular gown--I remember it perfectly--was of a dim, dullyellow--flounciful (if I may coin a word), diaphanous, expansive. Ihave not the least notion what fabric composed it; but scattered aboutit, in unexpected places, were diamond-shaped red things that I amcredibly informed are called medallions. The general effect of it maybe briefly characterised as grateful to the eye and dangerous to theheart, and to a rational train of thought quite fatal.

  For it was cut low in the neck; and Margaret's neck and shoulderswould have drawn madrigals from a bench of bishops.

  And in consequence, Billy Woods ate absolutely no dinner that evening.