Her bright hair was tossed up into a fluffy knot on the top of her head; and with a flat coronet of wild roses and another great bunch at her belt, one might have gone far and not have found a prettier Rosalind. ‘I declare, you are just too lovely—isn’t she, Laura?’ asked Margery. ‘Yes, she looks quite well,’ answered Laura, abstractedly, being much occupied in making herself absurdly beautiful as Audrey. ‘Of course the dress fits horridly, but perhaps it won’t show in the dim light.’ ‘Oh, is it very bad?’ sighed Bell, plaintively; ‘I can’t see it in this glass. Well, the next one fits better, and I have to wear that the longest. Shall I do your hair, Laura?’ ‘No—thanks; Margery has such a capital knack at hair-dressing, and she doesn’t come on yet.’ During this conversation Polly was struggling with Aunt Truth’s trained white wrapper. It was rather difficult to make it look like a court dress; but she looked as fresh and radiant as a rose in it, for the candle-light obliterated every freckle, and one could see nothing but a pair of dancing eyes, the pinkest of cheeks, and a head running over with curls of ruddy gold. ‘Now, Bell, criticise me!’ she cried, taking a position in the middle of the tent, and turning round like a wax figure. ‘I have torn out my hair by the roots to give it a “done up” look, and have I succeeded? and shall I wear any flowers with this lace surplice? and what on earth shall I do with my hands? they’re so black they will cast a gloom over the stage. Perhaps I can wrap my handkerchief carelessly round one, and I’ll keep the other round your waist, considerable, tucked under your Watteau pleat. Will I do?’ ‘Do? I should think so!’ and Bell eyed her with manifest approval. ‘Your hair is very nice, and your neck looks lovely with that lace handkerchief. As for flowers, why don’t you wear a great mass of yellow and white daisies? You’ll be as gorgeous as—’ ‘As a sunset by Turner,’ said Laura, with a glance at Polly’s auburn locks. ‘Seems to me this is a mutual admiration society, isn’t it?’ and she sank languidly into a chair to have her hair dressed. ‘Yes, it is,’ cried Polly, boldly; ‘and it’s going to “continner.” Meg, you’re a darling in that blue print and pretty hat. I’ll fill my fern-basket with flowers, and you can take it, s0 as to have something in your hand to play with. You look nicer than any Phœbe I ever saw, that’s a fact. And now, hurrah! we’re all ready, and there’s the boys’ bell, so let us assemble out in the kitchen. Oh dear! I believe I’m frightened, in spite of every promise to the contrary.’ When the young people saw each other for the first time in their stage costumes there was a good deal of merriment and some honest admiration. Geoff looked very odd without his eyeglasses and with the yellow wig that was the one property belonging to this star dramatic organisation.