Monsieur Worth was not looking at Gardenia’s dress but at her face. She felt him take in every detail of her face, her eyes and her hair surmounted by the too large hat.
“Will you remove your hat, mamselle,” he asked.
She raised her arms and drew out the gigantic pins. Her hair, untidy from trying on all the dresses in the Duchesse’s wardrobe, was curling rebelliously round her forehead and at the nape of her neck.
“You do see,” the Duchesse murmured, “she cannot appear looking like that.”
“She is very young,”” Monsieur Worth said, almost as though he was talking to himself. “How would you have me dress her, madame? As a counterpart of yourself or as she is, very young and unsophisticated?”
Gardenia could see that he was asking this question with a sudden urgency in his quiet rather d
