powers of pleasing,
which came to me then like remembered mockeries.

"I made no effort to look beautiful, but over my simple white dress
threw a lace mantilla, fastening it to my head with clusters of tea
roses, and allowing it to sweep over my person, black and shadowy, like
the thoughts that haunted my mind. This was a common dress among the
Spanish ladies, and I put it on that day for the first time, thinking to
escape the observation that a foreign costume was sure to provoke. Miss
Eaton gave an exclamation of delight when I went down to the parlor. If
any thing could inspire her to enthusiasm it was a novelty in dress.

"'Oh, how charming! And you have turned Spaniard,' she said, clasping
her little hands and examining me from head to foot, in a sort of
rapture. 'Ain't she splendid, Mr. Harrington! Those crimson roses look
superb in the black lace. I am sick of my bonnet. Just hold my parasol
while I make myself a senorita also.'

"She ran out of the room, snatching some orange blossoms from a vase as
she went, and sending back soft gushes of an opera song to us.

"'What a light-hearted creature she is,' said Harrington, watching her
with admiring eyes as she floated off. 'A lovely face, don't you think
so?'

"'Yes, I think so, a very lovely face.'

"Perhaps some of the bitterness in my heart found its way through my
voice. Something there was which disturbed James Harrington. He turned
and looked at me keenly, seemed about to make some reply, but checked
himself and began to play with the coral handle of Lucy's parasol.
Directly, Lucy Eaton came back more like a summer cloud than ever, for
over her head she had thrown a veil of Brussels point, delicate as a
mist, and white as frost. But for her canary colored gloves and blue
ribbons, she would have appeared in absolute bridal costume, for she had
twisted the orange blossoms into a pretty garland which held the veil or
mantilla over her head, and was blushing like a rose with a sense of her
own completeness.

"We started for the public square through which the procession was to
pass. The streets were full of people, men, women, and children, all in
their richest costume, and brilliant with expectation. Every woman had
the national fall of lace on her head, almost invariably fastened with
clusters of natural roses; some of these mantillas were marvels of
costly work, and fell shadow-like over those soft summer dresses, giving
them a graceful and cloud-like