The three turned startled faces to greet her, two in dressing-sacks whose fronts bristled with pins, the third in a costume which seemed vaguely familiar, a dress which glittered with jet sequins and was cut so low that it was perhaps fortunate Miss Euphemia had neglected to remove her gray flannel underwear. "Why, Joan!" they chorused, dismay mingling with their welcome. (Even in conversation they were a most united family, speaking usually all three at once.) "However did you find your way up here? That stupid Susy should have shown you into the drawing-room!--or at least have announced you, so that you would not have caught us like this." "Nonsense! Susy tried to shoo me into the parlor, but I wouldn't be shooed; and as for 'announcing' me--she did howl up the stairs. But you were too engrossed to hear." The naïve respect with which they treated their prosperous young cousin always mortified Joan. She had her own conception of the family dignity. "You'd suppose I'd never seen a dressing-sack or a sewing-machine in my life, whereas I was raised on 'em.--My word, Cousin Euphie, how grand you are!" "Am I, dear? The dress is grand, I know," said Miss Euphemia doubtfully, "but I'm not sure it's quite in my style. The others thought I'd better have it because I'm plumpest, in the--in the chest, you know. But really, the waist!--There simply isn't any, Joan! What would you suggest?" "A yoke," said the girl gravely. "Just what I said!" twittered Miss Iphigenia. "Yokes _are_ being worn, or I'm certain Joan wouldn't have suggested it. A guimpe of black net perhaps--tucked, would you say, Joan dear!--and long wrinkled sleeves of the same. Which would do away with the necessity for long gloves, girls!" This happy thought was greeted with acclaim. "How clever of you, Genie! We can _all_ have guimpes and long sleeves? You see, three pairs of long white gloves--" they explained to Joan. "Of course!" she said hastily, making a mental note to supply her cousins with long white gloves if she had to ask her step-mother for the money. They showed her the other dresses eagerly; an amber-colored satin--"With slippers to match, my dear!"--and one of old-rose brocade which Miss Virginia almost kissed in her affection for it. "I sometimes think if I could have had a dress like this earlier--" she murmured. "Though of course my real color, like yours, Joan, was blue. A blue sash, and a pink rose in the hair. As General Fitzhugh Lee once said to me at a Galt House ball--" "No, wasn't it at the Governor's Inauguration, sister?" interposed Miss Euphemia. In the gentle altercation which ensued, Joan never heard just what the gallant general had said to her cousin Virginia; but she suspected it of having some connection with blue eyes.