“The wind doesn’t hurt flowers. It won’t hurt me.” Fires were lighted in the bedroom earlier than usual. Caroline and Sophia again retired to their room, leaving orders that they were not to be disturbed until four o’clock, and a solemn hush fell on the house. While the ladies were having tea, Susan was busy in their bedroom laying out their gowns and Henrietta, chancing to pass the open door, peeped in. The bed was spread with the rose-pink and apricot dresses of their choice, with petticoats of corresponding hues, with silken stockings and long gloves and fans; and on the mound made by the pillows two pairs of very high-heeled slippers pointed their narrow toes. It might have been the room of two young girls and, before she fluttered down to tea, Henrietta took another glance at the mass of yellow tulle on her own bed. She wished Mrs. Banks and Miss Stubb could see her in that dress. Mrs. Banks would cry and Miss Stubb would grow poetical. She would have to write and tell them all about it. At eight o’clock the four Miss Malletts assembled in the drawing-room. Caroline was magnificent. Old lace veiled the shimmering satin of her gown and made it possible to wear the family emeralds: these, heavily set, were on her neck and in her ears; a pair of bracelets adorned her arms. Seen from behind, she might have been the stout and prosperous mother of a family in her prime and only when she turned and displayed the pink patches on yellow skin, was her age discernible. She was magnificent, and terrible, and Henrietta had a moment of recoil before she gasped, “Oh, Aunt Caroline, how lovely!” Sophia advanced more modestly for inspection. “She looks about twenty-one!” Caroline exclaimed. “What a figure! Like a girl’s!” “You’re prejudiced, dear Caroline. I never had your air. You’re wonderful.” “We’re all wonderful!” Henrietta cried. They had all managed to express themselves: Caroline in the superb attempt at overcoming her age, and Sophia in the softness of her apparel; Rose, in filmy black and pearls round her firm throat, gently proud and distant; and Henrietta was like some delicately gaudy insect, dancing hither and thither, approaching and withdrawing. “Yes, we’re all wonderful,” Henrietta said again. “Don’t you think we ought to start? It’s a pity for other people not to see us!” With Susan’s help they began the business of packing themselves into the cab. Caroline lifted her skirts and showed remarkably thin legs, but she stood on the doorstep to quarrel with Sophia about the taking of a shawl. She ought to have a lace one round her shoulders, Sophia said, for the Assembly Rooms were always cold and it was a frosty night. “Sophia, you’re an idiot,” Caroline said. “Do you think I’m going to sit in a ball-room in a shawl? Why not take a hot-water bottle and a muff?” “At least we must have the smelling salts. Susan, fetch the salts. Miss Caroline might need them.”