From one made bold
By Cupid, who alas, can find no shoe to fit
Which will contain the hearts that seek a place in it.’
“It is rather pretty, don’t you think?” she ended, appealing to them all with the gentlest of smiles.
“I think it’s beautiful,” said Dorothea enthusiastically.
Already she was growing to love this strange lady who, while she was quick to realize the present, seemed also to be dwelling in the past.
“But who sent it, Cousin Imogene?” demanded the inquisitive Harriot.
“Harry,” said her mother rather sharply, “don’t ask so many questions.”
“But I wanted to know,” Harriot persisted, and there was a momentary argument before the matter was disposed of; although Dorothea noticed that Miss Imogene did not betray the name of the gentleman who had sent her the crystal slipper.
It took a good while to unpack all of the trunks, for each piece of finery was exhibited and talked over and admired by these Southern ladies whom the war had now deprived of all such pretty things. But it was finally accomplished. The cupboards and bureau drawers were filled and the empty boxes banished to the attic.