But the result was not so
bad. The broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted coat did not fit him ill,
though the shiny boots were at least a size too large. Timidly he went
down. Ricky was the first to see him.
"Val! You look like something out of _Lloyds of London_. Rupert, look at
Val. Doesn't he look wonderful?"
Having thus made public his embarrassment, she ran to the mirror to
finish her own prinking. The high-waisted Empire gown of soft green
voile made her appear taller than usual. But she walked with a little
shuffle which suggested that her ribbon-strapped slippers fitted her no
better than Val's boots did him. Charity was coaxing Ricky's tight
fashionable curls into a looser arrangement and tying a green ribbon
about them. This done, she turned to survey Val.
"I thought so," she said with satisfaction. "You are just what I want.
But," the tiny lines about her eyes crinkled in amusement, "at present
you are just a little too perfect. Do you realize that you have just
fought off an attack, led by a witch doctor, in which you were wounded;
that you have struggled through a jungle for seven hours in order to
reach your betrothed; and that you are now facing death by torture? I
hardly think that you should look as if you had just stepped out of the
tailor's--"
"I've done all that?" Val demanded, somewhat staggered.
"Well, the author says you have, so you've got to look it.
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