Mrs. Zarubkin had bought her gown ready made at Kiev, and had returned
only two hours before the beginning of the ball. She had scarcely had
time to dress. Perhaps it would have been better had she not appeared
at this one of the annual balls, had she not taken that fateful trip
to Kiev. For in comparison with the make and style of Mrs. Shaldin's
dress, which had been brought abroad, hers was like the botched
imitation of an amateur.
That was evident to everybody, though the captain's wife had her
little group of partisans, who maintained with exaggerated eagerness
that she looked extraordinarily fascinating in her dress and Mrs.
Shaldin still could not rival her. But there was no mistaking it,
there was little justice in this contention. Everybody knew better;
what was worst of all, Mrs. Zarubkin herself knew better. Mrs.
Shaldin's triumph was complete.
The two ladies gave each other the same friendly smiles as always, but
one of them was experiencing the fine disdain and the derision of the
conqueror, while the other was burning inside with the furious
resentment of a dethroned goddess--goddess of the annual ball.
Pages:
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342