in silver, and silver buckles, set with amethysts, on her white shoes.
More than once Rose had laughingly accused her of being vain of her
feet.

"Why shouldn't I be vain?" she had retorted, in self-defence. "Aren't
they pretty?"

"Of course they are," smiled Rose, bending down to kiss her. "They're
the prettiest little feet in all the world."

Madame's fancy ran seriously to shoes and stockings, of which she had a
marvellous collection. Silk stockings in grey and white, and in all
shades of lavender and purple, embroidered and plain, with shoes to
match in satin and suede, occupied a goodly space in her wardrobe. At
Christmas-time and on her birthday, Rose always gave her more, for it
was the one gift which could never fail to please.

"How lovely the house is," said Madame, looking around appreciatively.
"I hope the dinner will be good."

"I've never known it to be otherwise," Rose assured her.

"Am I all right? Is my skirt even?"

"You are absolutely perfect, Aunt Francesca."

"Then play to me, my dear. If my outward semblance is in keeping, please
put my mind into a holiday mood."

Rose ran her fingers lightly over the keys. "What shall I play?"