in the fireplaces. The usual chairs had been augmented by a score of folding camp-chairs, rented for the occasion, and backed up against the walls; they even stood in front of the bookcases.
That's where we'll receive, Lou explained, pointing to the double-doorway between the parlour and the dining-room, which had been festooned with loops of smilax.
How pretty it all is! Ella approved. It looks as if there were to be a wedding.
The Countess regarded her sister. Lou was wearing a white poplin dress, with mutton-legged sleeves, tight from the elbow to the wrist, and a wide skirt which began to flare a little below the squeezing waist-band, an indigo ribbon fastened with a silver buckle. She had combed her hair more carefully than usual and it showed the traces of the use of the curling-iron, a quantity of frizzes masking the brow, just like the Princess of Wales, Ella thought. Then she appraised Lou's unpowdered face, the sallow, dead, sexless skin, the narrow, querulous lips, the weak nose, the watery eyes.
Not long after, the guests began to arrive. The still apronless Anna ushered them in. The first-comer was Miss Darrell, Maple Valley's exclusive dress-maker. Lou had explained to the Countess that in a small town one must invite everybody.
That Miss Darrell's dress was not a good advertisement for her talents as a couturière was Ella's first impression. In the first place, it was a winter
