“Or a ghost!” muttered Mrs. Laurence, in a troubled undertone. “The ghost of a child we have sheltered and loved, but who will belong to others when we want her most.”
“What are you saying, mother?” cried Eva, who was stooping forward to look at herself in a little mirror between the windows, which just took in the outlines of her splendid neck and shoulders. “Something about my dress that you don’t like, I suppose. It was extravagant spending so much money; but you must scold Ruth. She would do it, wouldn’t you, Ruthy, dear?”
“Oh, yes! mother must scold me! but she won’t do it, in earnest. I’m not afraid. Didn’t she work like a regular seamstress, to help finish the dress; and isn’t it beautiful? All it wants is a little warm color.”
“It wants nothing in the world,” said Eva, passing both hands over the dark braids of hair that fell in rich loops down her neck, making its whiteness like the leaves of a magnolia flower. “I never was dressed so well in my life, and, perhaps, never shall be again, who knows?”
“I know,” answered Ruth. “These fashionable people adore good looks; and, oh! sister Eva, how beautiful you are! Come down here, and let me kiss you. How warm and red your cheeks are; it is like feeling a peach at one’s lips. How I would love to paint you just this way, only a little color in the dress. I insist on that for the picture; it costs nothing, you know.”
“Come in,” Mrs. Laurence called, a little sharply, for she was ill at ease that evening, and even a knock at the door annoyed her.
It was only little Jimmy, who peeped through the door, after knocking, to make sure that even his presence might not create some confusion, while that momentous toilet was in progress. He carried a mass of loose roses in his arms, white, golden-tinted, and red, some half open, some in full bloom, and others folded buds, clasped in with moss.
No wonder Ruth uttered a glad cry, and clapped her delicate hands, gleeful as a child who suddenly finds its wishes gratified. No wonder Eva sprang forward, and put a hand on either side the boy’s face, and kissed him, rapturously, over and over again.
“You darling! You boy of boys! Where did you get them?” she cried. “Oh! how could I be so careless?”
In her eagerness, she had swept half, the flowers from Jimmy’s arms, and they lay at her feet, sending up odors that filled the little room. She stooped to gather them up, still questioning him.