Women are born linen-lovers, and Kedzie was not ashamed to have
even a millionaire maid see the things she wore next to her skin,
and Liliane was delighted to find by this secret wardrobe that
her new mistress was beautifully equipped.
She waited outside the door till Kedzie had stepped from the fragrant
pool--then came in to aid in the harnessing. She saw nothing but
the successive garments and had those ready magically. She laced
the stays and slid the stockings on and locked the garters and set
the slippers in place. She was miraculously deft with Kedzie's hair,
and her suggestions were the last word in tact. Then she fetched
the dinner-gown, floated it about Kedzie as delicately as if it
were a ring of smoke, hooked it, snapped it, and murmured little
compliments that were more tonic than cocktails.
When Jim came in he was struck aglow by Kedzie's comeliness and by
a certain authority she had, Liliane pointed to her, as an artist
might point to a canvas with which he has had success, and demanded
his admiration. His eyes paid the tribute his lips stammered over.
Kedzie was incandescent with her triumph, and she went down the
stairway to collect her dues.
Her parents-in-law were waiting, and she could see how tremendously
they were impressed and relieved by her grace. What did it matter who
she was or whence she came? She was as irresistible as some haunting
phrase from a folk-song, its authorship unknown and unimportant, its
perfection inspired.
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