"I can see you in the glass yet; go away so that I can't see you anywhere, Minn."
Weeping bitterly, Minny retired to the other apartment; and Della, with folded hands, sat quite still with downcast eyes and pallid cheeks, looking like a statue of meditation.
A little French clock upon the mantle-piece struck the hour, and went on with its monotonous tick, tick—that unobtrusive voice of warning and admonition—until the half hour was sweetly chimed, and still Della sat there, pale, and still thinking. At length she rose, and with an energy unusual with her, walked hastily back and forth across the room. It had a soothing effect, and her brow was calm and resolute, yet shadowed as if with some new lesson of life, harshly forced upon her. She seated herself once more before the mirror.
"Minny, I am ready for you now."
Minny came, with her face calm and corpse-like, and once more essayed to bind up the rich bands of hair.
"Place my wreath a little more front. My cheek needs the shade of that bright rose to relieve its pallor—so—that effect is charming."
"Your hair is dressed, Miss."
Della sprang to her feet like one who resolutely tossed some load from the heart, and taking the hand-mirror from
the table, surveyed the arrangement of her hair altogether.
"Beautiful! Minny, you have excelled yourself to-night."