Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. The preparations to meet him were immense, roses were planted everywhere, white and drooping with honeyed fragrance. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited.
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