When Margaret came flying up the stairs Aunt Beatrice was ready save for hair and dress . Margaret cast the gown on the bed , revealing all its beauty of jetted lace and soft yellow silk with a dextrous sweep of her arm . Aunt Beatrice gave a little cry of admiration . `` Is n't it lovely ? '' demanded Margaret . `` And I 've brought you my opera cape and my fascinator and my black satin slippers with the cunningest gold buckles , and some sweet pale yellow roses that Uncle Ned gave me yesterday . Oh , Aunt Beatrice ! What magnificent arms and shoulders you have ! They 're like marble . Mine are so scrawny I 'm just ashamed to have people know they belong to me . '' Margaret 's nimble fingers were keeping time with her tongue . Aunt Beatrice 's hair went up as if by magic into soft puffs and waves and twists , and a golden rose was dropped among the bronze masses . Then the lovely dress was put on and pinned and looped and pulled until it fell into its simple , classical lines around the tall , curving figure . Margaret stepped back and clapped her hands admiringly . `` Oh , Auntie , you 're beautiful ! Now I 'll pop down for the cloak and fascinator . I left them hanging by the fire . '' When Margaret had gone Aunt Beatrice caught up the lamp and tiptoed shamefacedly across the hall to the icy-cold spare room . In the long mirror she saw herself reflected from top to toe -- or was it herself ! Could it be -- that gracious woman with the sweet eyes and flushed cheeks , with rounded arms gleaming through their black laces and the cluster of roses nestling against the warm white flesh of the shoulder ?
`` I do look nice , '' she said aloud , XXXXX a little curtsey to the radiant reflection .
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