That glimpse of throat would be pretty, especially with some kind of
necklace. She got out her string of coral. No. The jagged shape of
coral was effective and the colour was effective, but it didn't "go"
with pale pink. She held up her string of pearl beads. That was
better. But ah! if only she had some long pearl pendants, to dangle
down from each ear; she knew just how to arrange her hair--something
like Lady Sylvia Southwoode's--so as to set them off.
She was engaged in parting her hair in the centre and rolling it
back in simple but aristocratic-looking "puffs" on either side--she
did look the least bit like Lady Sylvia!--when she heard her
mother's voice calling:
"Missy! haven't you gone to bed yet?"
"No, mother," she answered meekly, laying down the brush very
quietly.
"What on earth are you doing?"
"Nothing--I'm going to bed right now," she answered, more meekly
yet. "You'd better," came the unseen voice. "You've got to get up
early if you're going to the picnic."
The picnic--oh, bother! Missy had forgotten the picnic. If it had
been a picnic of her own "crowd" she would not have forgotten it,
but she was attending this function because of duty instead of
pleasure.
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