Off comes Doris's dress in a trice, and in almost less time than it takes to tell she is in the new one, pulling here and patting there until it is all fastened (Doris gasping a little, but striving to conceal that fact), and pronounced by one and all to "do" charmingly.
"My stars," says Dick, appearing suddenly on the scene, "you _do_ look stunning! What a pity our knight is not here to gaze upon his future bride in this--shall I say, regal attire," and the boy falls into an attitude of admiration and devotion. Doris bows her acknowledgments of these graceful compliments with a heightened colour; but whether the colour is due to the undeniable tightness of the bodice or the mention of the "knight" we will leave an open question; Dick inclining to the latter opinion, Doris (privately) to the former.
"You ungrateful girl!" suddenly cries Honor, who is engaged in smoothing out the many sheets of crumpled tissue paper strewn about the box and on the floor. "Here is a letter from aunt; how came you not to see it?"
It appears that the present is from Sir John. He wishes Doris to look well at the coming ball, Lady Woodhouse goes on to say, young Ferrars being of the same family as Sir Edward.
"Well, that is kind of uncle, isn't it? Now I shall not care two straws for Lady Anne Trevelyan or anyone else."
On further examination of the hoards another white silk (one of Mrs. Merivale's) is discovered, which will do nicely for Honor if altered and renovated.
"I want you all to be dressed alike in that respect," says Mrs. Merivale. "You know, girls, I always liked white silk for you in the old days before your poor father died," and she sighs heavily.
And so the weighty subject of the ball dresses is settled, and a young woman in the village, whom the girls have found to be possessed of some ideas as to style and so on, is engaged to come into the house to alter those destined for Honor and Molly.
All this time Daisy and Dr. John Sinclair continue to take their almost daily rides, greatly to the delight of the former if not the latter. Not that the young man feels one whit less the pleasure of having his little favourite intrusted to his care, and of watching her slow but steady return to health and spirits.