Chapter 18

           "Whatareyoutwoplottingtogether,auntMedora?"MadameOlenskacriedasshecameintotheroom.Shewasdressedasifforaball.Everythingabouthershimmeredandglimmeredsoftly,asifherdresshadbeenwovenoutofcandle-beams;andshecarriedherheadhigh,likeaprettywomanchallengingaroomfulofrivals."Weweresaying,mydear,thatherewassomethingbeautifultosurpriseyouwith,"Mrs.Mansonrejoined,risingtoherfeetandpointingarchlytotheflowers.MadameOlenskastoppedshortandlookedatthebouquet.Hercolourdidnotchange,butasortofwhiteradianceofangerranoverherlikesummerlightning."Ah,"sheexclaimed,inashrillvoicethattheyoungmanhadneverheard,"whoisridiculousenoughtosendmeabouquet?Whyabouquet?Andwhytonightofallnights?Iamnotgoingtoaball;Iamnotagirlengagedtobemarried.Butsomepeoplearealwaysridiculous."Sheturnedbacktothedoor,openedit,andcalledout:"Nastasia!"Theubiquitoushandmaidenpromptlyappeared,andArcherheardMadameOlenskasay,inanItalianthatsheseemedtopronouncewithintentionaldeliberatenessinorderthathemightfollowit:"Here—throwthisintothedustbin!"andthen,asNastasiastaredprotestingly:"Butno—it’snotthefaultofthepoorflowers.Telltheboytocarrythemtothehousethreedoorsaway,thehouseofMr.Winsett,thedarkgentlemanwhodinedhere.Hiswifeisill—theymaygiveherpleasure...Theboyisout,yousay?Then,mydearone,runyourself;here,putmycloakoveryouandfly.