And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. Your mother, for instance, couldn’t. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos.
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