satisfied with my dress, dearest mamma?"

"Not quite;" and Mrs. Rothesay fetched a small mantle of white fur,
which she laid round Olive's shoulders. "Wear this, dear; you will
look better then--see." She led her to the mirror, and Olive saw the
reflection of her own figure, so effectually disguised, that the head,
with its delicate and spiritual beauty, seemed lifting itself out of a
white cloud.

"'Tis a pretty little mantle, but why must I wear it, mamma?--the night
is not cold." So little did she think of herself, and so slight had
been her intercourse with the world, that the defect in her shape rarely
crossed her mind. But the mother, so beautiful herself, and to whom
beauty was still of such importance, was struck with bitter pain. She
would not even console herself by the reflection, with which many a one
had lately comforted her, that Olive's slight deformity was becoming
less perceptible, and that she might, in a great measure, outgrow it
in time. Still it was there. As Mrs. Rothesay looked at the swan-like
curves of her own figure, and then at her daughter's, she would almost
have resigned her own once-cherished, but now disregarded, beauty, could
she have bestowed that gift upon her beloved child.

Without speaking, lest Olive should guess her thoughts, she laid the
mantle aside, only she whispered in bidding adieu, "Dear, if you see
other girls prettier, or more admired, more noticed than yourself, never
mind! Olive is mamma's own pet--always."

Oh, blessed adversity! oh, sweetness, taught by suffering! How
marvellous was the change wrought in Sybilla's heart.

Olive had never in her life before been at a "private ball," with
chalked floors, rout seats, and a regular band. She was quite dazzled
by the transformation thus effected in the Derwents' large, rarely-used,
dining-room, where she had had many a merry game with little Robert and
Lyle. It was perfect fairyland. The young damsels of Oldchurch--haughty
boarding-school belles, whom she had always rather feared, when Sara's
hospitality brought her in contact with them--were now grown into
perfect court beauties. She was quite alarmed by their dignity, and they
scarcely noticed poor little Olive at all. Sara, sweeping across the
room, appeared to the eyes of her little friend a perfect queen of
beauty. But the vision came and vanished. Never was there a belle so
much in request as the lively Sara.

Only once, Olive looked at her, and remembered the