CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.
TRUE TO BOTH.
"For Julia!" I repeated, the treacherous vision fading away instantaneously. "Oh, yes! I understand. They are very beautiful—very beautiful indeed."
"Which do you like most?" asked Julia, in a whisper, as she leaned against my shoulder.
"I like them all," I said. "There is scarcely any difference among them that I can see."
"No difference!" she exclaimed. "That is so like a man! Why, they are as different as can be. Look here, this one is only five shillings a yard, and that is twelve. Isn't that a difference?"
"A very great one," I replied. "But do you think you will look well in white, my dear Julia? You never do wear white."
"A bride cannot wear any thing but white," she said, angrily. "I declare, Martin, you would not mind if I looked a perfect fright."
"But I should mind very much," I urged, putting my arm around her; "for you will be my wife then, Julia."
She smiled almost for the first time that afternoon, for her mind had been full of the furniture, and too burdened for happiness. But now she looked happy.