esumed (not discovering that apartment downstairs)
that Mrs. Bygrave's boudoir might be on the upper story; she had
thoughtlessly committed an intrusion of which she was sincerely ashamed,
and she could now only trust to Mrs. Bygrave's indulgence to excuse and
forgive her.

A less elaborate apology might have served Mrs. Lecount's purpose. As
soon as Mrs. Wragge's struggling perceptions had grasped the fact that
her unexpected visitor was a neighbor well known to her by repute, her
whole being became absorbed in admiration of Mrs. Lecount's lady-like
manners, and Mrs. Lecount's perfectly-fitting gown! "What a noble
way she has of talking!" thought poor Mrs. Wragge, as the housekeeper
reached her closing sentence. "And, oh my heart alive, how nicely she's
dressed!"

"I see I disturb you," pursued Mrs. Lecount, artfully availing herself
of the Oriental Cashmere Robe as a means ready at hand of reaching the
end she had in view--"I see I disturb you, ma'am, over an occupation
which, I know by experience, requires the closest attention. Dear, dear
me, you are un picking the dress again, I see, after it has been made!
This is my own experience again, Mrs. Bygrave. Some dresses are so
obstinate! Some dresses seem to say to one, in so many words, 'No! you
may do what you like with me; I won't fit!'"

Mrs. Wragge was greatly struck by this happy remark. She burst out
laughing, and clapped her great hands in hearty approval.

"That's what this gown has been saying to me ever since I first put the
scissors into it," she exclaimed, cheerfully. "I know I've got an awful
big back, but that's no reason. Why should a gown be weeks on hand,
and then not meet behind you after all? It hangs over my Boasom like a
sack--it does. Look here, ma'am, at the skirt. It won't come right. It
draggles in front, and cocks up behind. It shows my heels--and, Lord
knows, I get into scrapes enough about my heels, without showing them
into the bargain!"

"May I ask a favor?" inquired Mrs. Lecount, confidentially. "May I try,
Mrs. Bygrave, if I can make my experience of any use to you? I think
our bosoms, ma'am, are our great difficulty. Now, this bosom of
yours?--Shall I say in plain words what I think? This bosom of yours is
an Enormous Mistake!"

"Don't say that!" cried Mrs. Wragge, imploringly. "Don't please, there's
a good soul! It's an awful big one, I know; but it's modeled, for all
that, from one of Magdalen's own."

She was far too deeply