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But she was so attired, perhaps for the advantage the short skirt gave her handsome ankles and something in silk stockings which approached them in tapering grace.
"Now," Aunt Maria said as she unbuttoned the despised brown dress, "you dare put on your blue chambray dress if you take care and not get it dirty right aways." "Oh, I'm glad for that. I like that dress best of all I have. It's not so long in the body or tight or long in the skirt like my other dresses. And blue is a prettier color than brown. I'll hurry now and get dressed."
He could see the shapely folds of the skirt, the symmetry of the bodice, even the harmony of the trimmings. He raised his eyes, half affrightedly, prepared to see the headless shoulders, but they and what seemed to be a head were concealed in a floating "cloud" or nubia of some fleecy tissue, as if for protection from the evening air.
It was Irma Irma Maitland herself, grown into a woman, her eyes brighter, her cheeks paler, the same Irma though different with a little startled look certainly, but now not proud any more, and looking every day of her twenty-two years. "Irma!" I gasped, barring the way. She stopped dead. Then she clutched at her skirt, and said feverishly, "Let me pass, sir, or I shall call for help!"
But whether she had actually seen him or only heard him spoken of, directly she received the queen's command, she flung off the dirty skin, washed herself from head to foot, and put on a skirt and bodice of shining silver. Then, locking herself into her room, she took the richest cream, the finest flour, and the freshest eggs on the farm, and set about making her cake.
And so the fire is not yet gone out of this old frame. Ah, yes, there they are again, those unpaved streets of old Annapolis arched with great trees on either side. And here is Dolly, holding her skirt in one hand and her fan in the other, and I in a brave blue coat, and pumps with gold buttons, and a cocked hat of the newest fashion. I had met her leaning over the gate in Prince George Street.
The royal purple of her velvets was cut, on skirt and bodice, into one continuous fretwork of heavy scrolls and leafage, and through the crevices of this textile carving shone the robe she carried beneath: it was tawny yellow, for she wore under her outward dress a complete robe of ancient lace, whose cobweb softness was more than half sacrificed only perceived as the slashes of her velvets made it evident.
But Larry was so startled by this changed Maggie that for the moment he could not have moved from the door even had he so desired. She was accoutered in the smartest of filmy evening gowns, with the short skirt which was then the mode, with high-heeled silver slippers, her rounded arms and shoulders and bosom bare, her abundant black hair piled high in careful carelessness.
She was fully dressed. She wore a yellowish fichu, a brown skirt, a jacket, all this on her monstrous abdomen; and a vast soiled apron like the linen trousers of a convict.
Then, in a terrible voice, she demanded: "What is that on your dress, Lucy?" And, after a pause, her voice rose into a shriek. "What have you done to my boy?" I glanced in astonishment at the dazed and terrified girl, and then I saw what her aunt had seen a good-sized blood-stain halfway down the front of her skirt, and another smaller one on her right sleeve.
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