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120 on, and talked a little louder than necessary about what he would have in his own house and what he would not have.

It was Jenny's dressing-room, adjoining Walter's chamber, to which the sisters had retired, but Dolly and Jenny literally lived together when Dolly was on a visit at Westbury Lodge, and the room had been fitted up with this understanding; so that there were two almost facsimile toilette tables, flashing with cut glass bottles, radiant with silver-backed brushes, sparkling with gems, and furnished with the various luxurious appointments of a fashionable woman's room. The walls of the apartment were decorated in what Jenny called complexion colors; the curtains white lace and pink silk, the mirrors Louise Quinze, the atmosphere pleasantly perfumed, the floor of sandal wood, covered with Persian rugs. It is fitting that we retire while the doves of this pretty nest plume themselves for their guests, to return presently, after pinning and scheming of maid and mistress, the last touch of rouge or powder, and the last critical glance into the glass.

The result must be pronounced satisfactory. Jenny poses before her mirror in a pale yellow tea gown of soft silk, trimmed at the throat and wrists with Mecklenburgh lace, a trail of daffodils on the right shoulder a la Bernhardt, a chain of old Dutch silver round her neck, and on her yellow silk shoes buckles to match, ornaments that had once belonged to a rich burgomaster's wife. Her black hair had in its folds old silver pins, one of which might have been used to stab a rival queen in some sensational novel. She was pleased with herself, as well she might be. Having adjusted the last pin and arranged the last flower, Jenny turned with merry eyes to Dolly, who was a perfect picture of health, happiness, and mischief, in the simplest of white crape Empire dresses, a pair of tiny diamond earrings, her hair dressed high in loops and curls, a bunch of lilies of the valley at her white throat, devoid of