Chapter tenThe days were passing with almost terrifying rapidity.
Tina felt that she had no time to think, no time even to feel.
She seemed to move in a state bordering on hypnosis as she went from fitting to fitting, standing for an hour while a ball gown was pinned on her and then for another hour while a redingote was taken to pieces and rearranged because the Dowager found some slight fault in the fitting at the waist.
There were day gowns and feathered bonnets, negligées so thin that they looked as if they had been spun by fairy fingers and pile upon pile of underclothes edged with real lace.
At first Tina had expostulated at the expense and then, because no one would listen to her, she had let herself be swept away on the tide of the Dowager’s enthusiasm.
“An heiress marrying on
