One morning—it was the day before Mardi-Gras—when Lady Jane entered Pepsie’s room, instead of finding her friend engaged in her usual occupation, the table was cleared of all that pertained to business, and on it was spread a quantity of pink cambric, which Pepsie was measuring and snipping with great gravity.
“Oh, Pepsie, what are you making?” cried Lady Jane, greatly surprised at this display of finery.
“It’s a domino,” replied Pepsie curtly, her mouth full of pins.
“A domino, a domino,” repeated Lady Jane. “What’s a domino? I never saw one.”
“Of course, you never saw one, because you never saw a Mardi-Gras,” said Pepsie, removing the pins, and smiling to herself as she smoothed the pattern on the cloth.
“Mardi-gras! Is it for Mardi-gras?” asked Lady Jane eagerly. “You might tell me all about it. I don’t know what it’s for,” she added, much puzzled, and somewhat annoyed at Pepsie’s air of secrecy.
“Well, it’s for some one to wear, Mardi-Gras,” replied Pepsie, still smiling serenely, and with an exasperating air of mystery.
“Oh, Pepsie—who, who is it for?” cried Lady Jane, pressing close, and putting both arms around her friend’s neck; “tell me, please, do! If it’s a secret I won’t tell.”
“Oh, it’s for a little girl I know,” said Pepsie, cutting and slashing the cambric with the greatest indifference, and evidently bent on keeping her own counsel.
Lady Jane stood still for a moment, letting her arms fall from Pepsie’s neck. Her face was downcast, and something like a tear shone on her lashes; then, a little slowly and thoughtfully, she climbed into her chair on the other side of the table, and, leaning on her elbows, watched the absorbed Pepsie silently.