Elfie yawned dismally.
“Now I haven’t been half so hard at work as you have, and I have had a good nap besides, and yet I feel more like lolling in a rocking chair than putting myself into an evening dress,” she said, as she sauntered away to make her toilet.
An hour later, just as the sun set, leaving a clear, beautiful twilight, Erminie and Elfie met in the drawing-room to wait for the coming of their company.
Elfie looked very pretty in her thin, black grenadine dress, with jet jewelry, and the little cap of white illusion that contrasted so well with her raven hair.
But Erminie looked dazzlingly beautiful—not from the effect of her toilet, for nothing could be cooler or quieter than her dress—a pure white grenadine, embroidered in sprigs of black silk, and trimmed with white lace and black ribbon. It was her face, her countenance, that was so radiant. Her cheeks and lips were flushed with a bright carnation color; her eyes were sparkling with animation; even her auburn hair seemed to glitter with a sort of electric splendor.
Elfie gazed on her in wonder and admiration.
“Well, Erminie, you were always indisputably beautiful; but now—Well, there! You almost alarm me! You look as if there was some inward glory shining through you and making your earthly beauty heavenly!” she said.
“Nonsense, love! Don’t you turn flatterer, or I shall lose my respect for you,” laughed Erminie.
“Flatterer! There! look in the glass and see for yourself whether I have flattered you! Come, it is still light enough for you to see, or if it is not, you will make the light!” said Elfie, turning her friend forcibly around to face the tall pier glass that stood between the two back windows.
“Absurd! I am in good health and good spirits—that is the whole secret,” said Miss Rosenthal, laughing and blushing, and breaking away from the too ardent admiration of Elfie.