detail.

In spite of its simplicity of color and line, the gown still bore the
unmistakable stamp of the wearer's world. The severity of line was subtly
made to emphasize the voluptuousness of the body that was covered but not
hidden. The quiet color was made to accentuate the flesh the dress
concealed only to reveal. The very lack of ornament but served to center
the attention upon the charms that so loudly professed to scorn them. It
was worldliness speaking in the quiet voice of religion. It was vulgarity
advertising itself in terms of good taste. She had made modesty the
handmaiden of blatant immodesty, and the daring impudence of it all
fairly stunned the painter.

"Oh dear!" she said, watching his face, "I fear you don't like it, at
all--and I thought it such a beautiful little gown. You told me to wear
whatever I pleased, you know."

"It _is_ a beautiful gown," he said--then added impulsively, "and you are
beautiful in it. You would be beautiful in anything."

She shook her head; favoring him with an understanding smile. "You say
that to please me. I can see that you don't like me this way."

"But I do," he insisted. "I like you that way, immensely. I was a bit
surprised, that's all. You see, I thought, of course, that you would
select an evening gown of some sort--something, you know, that would fit
your social position--your place in the world. In this costume, the beauty
of your shoulders--"

Lowering her eyes as if embarrassed, she said coldly, "The beauty of my