. .
A shadow falls across the paper on which he is writing--he glances
up--beholds an airy fairy vision regarding him with a saucy smile--a
slight graceful creature clothed in shell-pink with daintiest lace
frillings at the throat and wrists, and with a wealth of nut-brown
locks brought low on her white brow, letting only the great grey
eyes shine out.
"What are you writing, sir?" she demands, sending him a bewitching
glance.
"Only a response to your gracious invitation, Lady Melissa," he
replies, springing up to kiss her tapering fingers. . . The moon
seals the closed eyelids down with a kiss.
The day of days arrived.
Missy got up while the rest of the household was still sleeping. For
once she did not wait for Poppy's kiss to awaken her. The empty bed
surprised and disconcerted Poppy--that is, Fifine--upon her
appearance. But much, these days, was happening to surprise and
disconcert Poppy--that is, Fifine.
Fifine finally located her mistress down in the back parlour,
occupied with shears and a heap of old magazines. Missy was clipping
sketches from certain advertisements, which she might trace upon
cardboard squares and decorate with water-colour.
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