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"Perhaps Miss Peirce came in here to read, and forgot to turn it out," suggested Cora, seating herself on the edge of the bed and letting her silk wrap fall from her shoulders. "Oh, Laura, wasn't he gorgeous. . . ."
The chief wears the same gorgeous and degrading livery with his retinue, and obtains only his share of the indifferent stare which we bestow upon them in common. The poems have no strong lights and shades, no background, no foreground; they are like the illuminated figures in an oriental manuscript, plenty of rich tints and no perspective.
Finding the gorgeous spike of golden blossoms without a common name, she called it most happily the golden prince's feather. It is to be presumed that it has an unwieldy scientific cognomen in the botanies; but I heard of no common one, except that given by the poet.
The hats on the shelf above were in strict accord with the gowns and the cloaks and the foot-gear a gorgeous assortment of Easter millinery, wherein the beflowered and beplumed picture-hat predominated. I hurried back with my bucket of water, hoping in my heart that the pleasure their wearers got out of this finery might be as great as the day's work which earned it was long and hard.
"'To my lasting regret the piece was then too far along to give him a more important part, though I intended to offer him something good in our next play for Muriel Mercer you may recall her gorgeous success in Her Father's Wife but I was never able to find the chap again. I made inquiries, of course, and felt a really personal sense of loss when I could get no trace of him.
"Brayvo! Brayvo! By Jupiter wouldn't 'a' credited it without the evidence of my own eyes." The gorgeous curtains had just descended upon a narrow parlor, which a Japanese necromancer had literally filled to overflowing with colored cardboard boxes produced from the interior of one single top hat. "See! Watch 'em, Mav."
Half way through the dinner and the door was thrown open, admitting a gorgeous figure and a great gust of words. It was a young man in a brilliant uniform, his hair long, perfumed, powdered and curled, and his face flushed. Robert recognized him at once as that same Count Jean de Mézy who had passed them in the flying carriage.
He came in gorgeous array, with plumed cap, red cloak, chestnut lovelocks, a guitar, and the boots, of course. Kneeling at the foot of the tower, he sang a serenade in melting tones. Zara replied and, after a musical dialogue, consented to fly. Then came the grand effect of the play. Roderigo produced a rope ladder, with five steps to it, threw up one end, and invited Zara to descend.
Mab's hands slackened from Merefleet's clasp, and suddenly she stretched out her arms to the sky. The holiest of all earthly raptures was on her face. Then with a sharp sigh she came to herself and turned back to Merefleet. A piteous little smile hovered about her quivering lips. "I guess I've been dreaming, Big Bear," she said. "Such a dream! Oh, such a gorgeous, heavenly dream!"
There was a good Brussels carpet on the floor, rich in dull red and lemon shades, and representing large jardinieres filled with gorgeous, impossible flowers. There was a large pier-glass mirror between the two windows. A large, soft, green, plush-covered couch occupied one corner, and several rocking-chairs were set about.
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