and remember the rules," she
said, and sailed down upon the cutters' table.

There was a certain silk evening dress, of singular and
indescribably lovely tint,--a tea-rose pink; just the color of the
blush and creaminess that mingle themselves into such delicious
anonymousness in the exquisite flower. It was all puffed and fluted
till it looked as if it had really blossomed with uncounted curving
petals, that showed in their tender convolutions each possible
deepening and brightening of its wonderful hue.

It _looked_ fragrant. It conveyed a subtle sense of flavor. It fed
and provoked every perceptive sense.

It was not a dress to be hurried with; every quill and gather of its
trimming must be "set just so;" and there was still one flounce to
be made, and these others were only basted, as also the corsage.

After the hours were up that afternoon, Miss Tonker called Aunt Blin
aside. She uncovered the large white box in which it lay,
unfinished.

"You have a nice room, Miss Bree. Can you take this home and finish
it,--by Wednesday? In over-hours, I mean; I shall want you here
daytimes, as usual. It has been tried on; all but for the hanging of
the skirt; you can take the measures from the white one. _That_ I
shall finish myself."

Aunt Blin's voice trembled with humble ecstasy as she answered. She
thanked Miss Tonker in a tone timid with an apprehension of some
possible unacceptableness which should disturb or change the
favoring grace.

"Certainly, ma'am. I'll spread a sheet on the floor, and put a
white cloth on the table. Thank you, ma'am. Yes; I have a nice room,
and nothing gets meddled with. It'll be quite safe there. I'm sure
I'm no less than happy to be allowed. You're very kind, ma'am."

Miss Tonker said nothing at all to the meekly nervous outpouring.
She did not snub her, however; that was something.

Miss Bree and her niece, between them, carried home the large box.

On the way, a dream ran through the head of Bel. She could not help
it.

To have this beautiful dress in the house,--perhaps to have to stand
up and be tried to, for the fall of its delicate, rosy trail; with
the white cloth on the floor, and the bright light all through the
room,--why it would be almost like a minute of a ball; and what if
the door should be open, and somebody should happen to go by,
up-stairs? If she could be so, and be seen so, just one minute, in
that blush-colored silk! She should like to look like that, just