She could set up a little establishment of her own
some day, when she went back to Marcelle.
Cicely did not hear the final words of Miss Shelby's argument, but a
few minutes later madame came back to the workroom with a bundle in
her arms. There was a worried frown on her face as she unrolled it and
called sharply to her forewoman.
Every seamstress in the room bent forward with an exclamation of
pleasure as the piece of dress-goods was unrolled. It was a soft,
shimmering silk, whose creamy surface was covered with rosebuds, as
dainty and pink as if they had been blown across it from some June
garden. Cicely caught her breath with a little gasp of delight, and
thought again of the sweet face that had smiled on her. Miss Balfour
would look like a rose herself in such a dress.
The next day Cicely saw the cutter at work on it, and then the
forewoman distributed the various parts into different hands. Cicely
wished that she could have a part in making it. She would have enjoyed
putting her finest stitches into something to be worn by the beautiful
girl who had smiled on her. It would be almost like doing it for a
friend. But she was kept busy stitching monotonous bias folds.
Just as she was slipping on her jacket to go home that evening, the
forewoman came up to her with a bundle.
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