“I do want him to think I look well, and tell them so at home,” said Amy to herself, as she put on Flo’s old white silk ball dress, and covered it with a cloud of fresh illusion, out of which her white shoulders and golden head emerged with a most artistic effect.  Her hair she had the sense to let alone, after gathering up the thick waves and curls into a Hebe-like knot at the back of her head.

“It’s not the fashion, but it’s becoming, and I can’t afford to make a fright of myself,” she used to say, when advised to frizzle, puff, or braid, as the latest style commanded.

Having no ornaments fine enough for this important occasion, Amy looped her fleecy skirts with rosy clusters of azalea, and framed the white shoulders in delicate green vines.  Remembering the painted boots, she surveyed her white satin slippers with girlish satisfaction, and chassed down the room, admiring her aristocratic feet all by herself.

“My new fan just matches my flowers, my gloves fit to a charm, and the real lace on Aunt’s mouchoir gives an air to my whole dress.  If I only had a classical nose and mouth I should be perfectly happy,” she said, surveying herself with a critical eye and a candle in each hand.

In spite of this affliction, she looked unusually gay and graceful as she glided away.  She seldom ran—­it did not suit her style, she thought, for being tall, the stately and Junoesque was more appropriate than the sportive or piquante.  She walked up and down the long saloon while waiting for Laurie, and once arranged herself under the chandelier, which had a good effect upon her hair, then she thought better of it, and went away to the other end of the room, as if ashamed of the girlish desire to have the first view a propitious one.  It so happened that she could not have done a better thing, for Laurie came in so quietly she did not hear him, and as she stood at the distant window, with her head half turned and one hand gathering up her dress, the slender, white figure against the red curtains was as effective as a well-placed statue.

“Good evening, Diana!” said Laurie, with the look of satisfaction she liked to see in his eyes when they rested on her.

“Good evening, Apollo!” she answered, smiling back at him, for he too looked unusually debonair, and the thought of entering the ballroom on the arm of such a personable man caused Amy to pity the four plain Misses Davis from the bottom of her heart.

“Here are your flowers.  I arranged them myself, remembering that you didn’t like what Hannah calls a ’sot-bookay’,” said Laurie, handing her a delicate nosegay, in a holder that she had long coveted as she daily passed it in Cardiglia’s window.

“How kind you are!” she exclaimed gratefully.  “If I’d known you were coming I’d have had something ready for you today, though not as pretty as this, I’m afraid.”

“Thank you.  It isn’t what it should be, but you have improved it,” he added, as she snapped the silver bracelet on her wrist.