“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
while Fantine deftly dressed the heavy mass of golden yellow hair that hung almost to the floor. Mrs. Trevelyan’s cheeks always glowed with unfictitious health, and now as she sat smiling and chatting to Fantine she presented a truly lovely picture to the eyes of the stewardess bringing in the tray.
“Good morning, Mrs. Dorrance,” said Mrs. Trevelyan. “What a glorious day!”
“Fine, madam,” answered the stewardess as she placed the tray on the wicker table in front of Mrs. Trevelyan. “It ’s lovely weather—and, if you will pardon me sayin’ it as should n’t—you 're as lovely as a rose yourself this mornin’.”
Fantine doing her mistress’ hair smiled the faintest undefinable smile at the directness and banality of this broadside compliment.
“Thanks, Dorrance!” laughed Lily. “You can say it just as often as you like! Why does n’t everybody realize that nobody minds the nice things people say, no matter how undeserved we know them to be. And truly they have a great deal to do with how we look and act. I ’m sure I really shall look lovely this100
