Then, doubly to reassure herself, a fantastic idea seized Bertha to dress as though she were going to a great ball; she wished to see herself to all advantage. She chose the most splendid gown she had, and took out her jewels. The Leys had sold every vestige of their old magnificence, but their diamonds, with characteristic obstinacy, they had invariably declined to part with; and they lay aside, year after year unused, the stones in their old settings, dulled with dust and neglect. The moisture still in Bertha’s hair was an excuse to do it capriciously, and she placed in it the beautiful tiara which her grandmother had worn in the Regency. On her shoulders she wore two ornaments exquisitely set in gold-work, purloined by a great-uncle in the Peninsular War from the saint of a Spanish church. She slipped a string of pearls round her neck, bracelets on her arms, and fastened a glistening row of stars to her bosom. Knowing she had beautiful hands, Bertha disdained to wear rings, but now she covered her fingers with diamonds and emeralds and sapphires. Finally she stood before the looking-glass, and gave a laugh of pleasure. She was not old yet. But when she sailed into the drawing-room, Edward jumped up in surprise. “Good Lord!” he cried. “What on earth’s up! Have we got people coming to dinner?” “My dear, if we had, I should not have dressed like this.” “You’re got up as if the Prince of Wales were coming. And I’m only in knickerbockers. It’s not our wedding-day?” “No.” “Then I should like to know why you’ve dressed yourself up like that.” “I thought it would please you,” she said, smiling. “I wish you’d told me--I’d have dressed too. Are you sure no one’s coming?” “Quite sure.” “Well, I think I ought to dress. It would look so queer if some one turned up.” “If any one does, I promise you I’ll fly.” They went in to dinner, Edward feeling very uncomfortable, and keeping his ear alert for the front-door bell. They ate their soup, and then were set on the table--the remains of a cold leg of mutton and mashed potatoes. Bertha looked for a moment blankly, and then, leaning back, burst into peal upon peal of laughter. “Good Lord, what is the matter now?” asked Edward. Nothing is more annoying than to have people violently hilarious over a joke that you cannot see. Bertha held her sides and tried to speak. “I’ve just remembered that I told the servants they might go out to-night, there’s a circus at Blackstable; and I said we’d just eat up the odds and ends.” “I don’t see any joke in that.” And really there was none, but Bertha laughed again immoderately. “I suppose there are some pickles,” said Edward. Bertha repressed her gaiety and began to eat. “That is my whole life,” she murmured under her breath, “to eat cold mutton and mashed potatoes in a ball-dress and all my diamonds.” Chapter XXXV