“Oh, Ruthy! it seems like fairy-work! You have taken away my breath!”
“They will take more; and that gentleman will teach me how to give them greater perfection. You see it is no dream, sister!”
“And it was your genius that got me this invitation, Ruth,” said Eva, with grateful enthusiasm. “I could not understand it before. It seems almost possible that I may go!”
“Almost! It is quite possible! I have been lying here, with my eyes on the ceiling, thinking over the dress. It must be lovely, you know, but not cost more than this one bill. White tarletan, I should say, with a long train, a flounce or two, and rows on rows of broad, puffy, ruches. Crimson roses in your hair, and a little cluster on your bosom. No! it shall be one, fragrant and half blown, on the left shoulder. No other ornaments.”
“Of course not, you foolish darling! How am I to get them?”
“Not a thing!—just the white and red. To think of it is like painting a picture. I can see you now, with your black hair falling in broad, heavy braids nearly to the shoulders; two or three long ringlets sweeping almost to the waist; just a little coronal of red roses over the forehead; and the dress sweeping away, fold after fold, like dancing white poppies over drifting snow. I tell you, Eva, it will be superb.”
“But how is all this to be done, Ruth?”
“I shall be bolstered up, and sew on it in the day-time. You will help me at night. I tell you, dear, it will be charming.”
“And you, poor dear, will be left at home, and see nothing.”
“What, I! Indeed, you know nothing about it. I shall just lie here, with my hands folded, so, and my eyes shut, thinking over everything as it happens. The way people will look at you, and whisper, ‘Who is that? Isn’t she—’ But I won’t tell you all that I shall see. Be sure you will not enjoy it more than I shall. Then there is James!—won’t it delight him?”