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 interested on the subject of the dress to notice that she had forgotten herself already, and that she had referred to Magdalen by her own name.  Mrs. Lecount’s sharp ears detected the mistake the instant it was committed.  “So! so!” she thought.  “One discovery already.  If I had ever doubted my own suspicions, here is an estimable lady who would now have set me right.—­I beg your pardon,” she proceeded, aloud, “did you say this was modeled from one of your niece’s dresses?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Wragge.  “It’s as like as two peas.”

“Then,” replied Mrs. Lecount, adroitly, “there must be some serious mistake in the making of your niece’s dress.  Can you show it to me?”

“Bless your heart—­yes!” cried Mrs. Wragge.  “Step this way, ma’am; and bring the gown along with you, please.  It keeps sliding off, out of pure aggravation, if you lay it out on the table.  There’s lots of room on the bed in here.”

She opened the door of communication and led the way eagerly into Magdalen’s room.  As Mrs. Lecount followed, she stole a look at her watch.  Never before had time flown as it flew that morning!  In twenty minutes more Mr. Bygrave would be back from his bath.

“There!” said Mrs. Wragge, throwing open the wardrobe, and taking a dress down from one of the pegs.  “Look there!  There’s plaits on her Boasom, and plaits on mine.  Six of one and half a dozen of the other; and mine are the biggest—­that’s all!”

Mrs. Lecount shook her head gravely, and entered forthwith into subtleties of disquisition on the art of dressmaking which had the desired effect of utterly bewildering the proprietor of the Oriental Cashmere Robe in less than three minutes.