ning wear--it is _decolletee_--it is to show to everybody
Miladi's most beautiful white neck and arms. The effect will be
ravishing!"

Thelma's face grew suddenly grave--almost stern.

"You must be very wicked!" she said severely, to the infinite amazement
of the vivacious Rosine. "You think I would show myself to people half
clothed? How is it possible! I would not so disgrace myself! It would
bring shame to my husband!"

Madame was almost speechless with surprise. What strange lady was this
who was so dazzlingly beautiful and graceful, and yet so ignorant of the
world's ways? She stared,--but was soon on the defensive.

"Miladi is in a little error!" she said rapidly and with soft
persuasiveness. "It is _la mode_. Miladi has perhaps lived in a country
where the fashions are different. But if she will ask the most amiable
Sieur Bruce-Errington, she will find that her dress is quite in keeping
with _les convenances_."

A pained blush crimsoned Thelma's fair cheek. "I do not like to ask my
husband such a thing," she said slowly, "but I must. For I could not
wear this dress without shame. I cannot think he would wish me to appear
in it as you have made it--but--" She paused, and taking up the
objectionable bodice, she added gently--"You will kindly wait here,
madame, and I will see what Sir Philip says."

And she retired, leaving the _modiste_ in a state of much astonishment,
approaching resentment. The idea was outrageous,--a woman with such
divinely fair skin,--a woman with the bosom of a Venus, and arms of a
shape to make sculptors rave,--and yet she actually wished to hide these
beauties from the public gaze! It was ridiculous--utterly
ridiculous,--and Madame sat fuming impatiently, and sniffing the air in
wonder and scorn. Meanwhile Thelma, with flushing cheeks and lowered
eyes, confided her difficulty to Philip, who surveyed the shocking
little bodice she brought for his inspection with a gravely amused, but
very tender smile.

"There certainly doesn't seem much of it, does there, darling?" he said.
"And so you don't like it?"

"No," she confessed frankly--"I think I should feel quite undressed in
it. I often wear just a little opening at the throat--but this--! Still,
Philip, I must not displease you--and I will always wear what you wish,
even if it is uncomfortable to myself."

"Look here, my pet," and he encircled her waist fondly with his arm,
"Rosine is quite right. The thing's perfectly fashionable,