There was a daring green feather in my cloche, and green gloves to match. My feet were neatly shod in high French heels and my stockings were the sheerest silk. I had planned on wearing a plain dark grey affair with very little embellishment, but Masterman had firmly squashed that notion. “I think not,” she said with a decisive air. “What if you should run into Mr. Madderley or any of his circle? Do you want them to see you looking like a whipped dog? No, miss. You go up to London with your head held high and wearing something smart.” I didn’t have the will to argue, and as I turned this way and that in front of the mirror, I had to admit, Masterman knew exactly what she was doing. “A stylish outfit will do wonders for a girl’s pride,” I murmured. Masterman pretended not to hear, but I saw her satisfied expression. She dressed herself in a sober costume of dark blue tweed with a discreet gold watch pinned to her lapel and hurried us off to the tiny train station with five minutes to spare.
What do You think about Night Of A Thousand Stars?
