The black velvet of her locket nestled with special softness round her neck.

That velvet was delicious; at home, looking at her neck in the looking glass, Kitty had felt that that velvet was speaking.

About all the rest there might be a doubt, but the velvet was delicious.

Kitty smiled here too, at the ball, when she glanced at it in the glass.

Her bare shoulders and arms gave Kitty a sense of chill marble, a feeling she particularly liked.