With the assistance of a couple of maids, Sylvia and Joe were soon tubbed and scrubbed and then seated, each wrapped in a sheet, awaiting the decision of the Lady Ermyntrude, who took clothes seriously. In time she selected what she considered suitable from the royal wardrobe (things that the royal children had grown out of) and began to dress them up. When she had finished with them the effect was startling. Sylvia had on a dress of white silk adorned with flowers and bees worked in gold, and little red shoes with pom-poms on them. Her hair was all fluffed out beneath a snow-white cap like a sugar loaf leaning backwards. Joe had a bright crimson doublet and hose and a cap with a white feather on it. His shoes wanted some getting used to for the toes were so pointed and long that they had to be fastened to his knees with tiny gold chains. In his belt he had a little dagger in an embroidered sheath, and this he liked more than anything. He told Sylvia that he had told her all along that things would come out all right and that she needn’t worry.
“What do you think of Sir Giles?” asked the Lady Ermyntrude when the children’s toilet was complete and they were sitting opposite to her on two footstools.
“He’s not bad,” replied Joe. (After all, Sir Giles had looked after them pretty well and given them breakfast.)
“He’s bossy,” said the lady (not the word she used of course, but the nearest I can get to it).
“Is he, Miss?” Sylvia asked.
“Yes, with most people. But not with me.” Here she laughed scornfully.
“You’re going to marry him, aren’t you, Miss—I mean, my Lady?” asked Sylvia timidly.
“In August.”
“Oh, so soon?” Sylvia got greatly interested. “Bridesmaids?”
“Six. Would you like to see my wedding-dress—as far as it’s gone?”
“I should love it!”
So Joe had to wander about the room for half an hour while these two thoroughly feminine females went into close details.