She had thought when her mother wore it that it was the most beautiful gown that she had ever seen.
She felt sure that the Chinese opposite her, with his shrewd eyes, would appreciate that it had been very expensive. It was in a fashion that had just come from one of the top couturiers of Paris.
At the back of the gown there was a bustle, which her mother told her had been the creation of the great Frederick Worth.
He was the English dress designer who had signed the death warrant of the crinoline. She could remember her mother saying that when she appeared in the gown at the Governor’s Ball, the women, who were not so up to date looked as if they could scratch her eyes out.
“But your father was very proud of me,” she had added softly, “and that was the only thing that mattered.”
Now,
