dance, you know."

"But you will be _there_."

I was sent to a dress-maker of Mrs. Bliss's recommending; but I ordered
the dress to be made after my own design, long plain sleeves, and high
plain corsage, and requested that it should not be sent home till the
evening of the ball. Before it came off Mr. Uxbridge called, and was
graciously received by Aunt Eliza, who could be gracious to all except
her relatives. I could not but perceive, however, that they watched each
other in spite of their lively conversation. To me he was deferential,
but went over the ground of our acquaintance as if it had been the most
natural thing in the world. But for my life-long habit of never calling
in question the behavior of those I came in contact with, and of
never expecting any thing different from that I received, I might have
wondered over his visit. Every person's individuality was sacred to
me, from the fact, perhaps, that my own individuality had never been
respected by any person with whom I had any relation--not even by my own
mother.

After Mr. Uxbridge went, I asked Aunt Eliza if she thought he looked
mean and cunning? She laughed, and replied that she was bound to think
that Mr. Lemorne's lawyer could not look otherwise.

When, on the night of the ball, I presented myself in the rose-colored
moire antique for her inspection, she raised her eyebrows, but said
nothing about it.

"I need not be careful of it, I suppose, aunt?"

"Spill as much wine and ice-cream on it as you like."

In the dressing-room Mrs. Bliss surveyed me.

"I think I like this mass of rose-color," she said. "Your hair comes out
in contrast so brilliantly. Why, you have not a single ornament on!"

"It is so easy to dress without."

This was all the conversation we had together during the evening, except
when she introduced some acquaintance to fulfill her matronizing duties.
As I was no dancer I was left alone most of the time, and amused myself
by gliding from window to window along the wall, that it might not be
observed that I was a fixed flower. Still I suffered the annoyance of
being stared at by wandering squads of young gentlemen, the "curled
darlings" of the ball-room. I borrowed Mrs. Bliss's fan in one of her
visits for a protection. With that, and the embrasure of a remote window
where I finally stationed myself, I hoped to escape further notice. The
music of the celebrated band which played between the dances recalled
the chorus of s