Our madcap friend, Gipsy, had lost none of her wicked nor mischief-loving propensities during those years. Such a pest and a plague as she was in the school, driving teachers and pupils to their wits' end with her mad pranks, and yet liked so well. There was usually a downright quarrel, about the time of the holidays, to see who would possess her; and Gipsy, after looking on and enjoying the fun, would, to the surprise and chagrin of all, go with some one who least hoped for the honor.
Gipsy was spending the winter with a school-friend, Jennie Moore, at Washington. The three girls, whose united fortunes are the subject of this history, had graduated; Minnette, with the highest honors the school could give; Celeste, with fewer laurels, but with far more love; and Gipsy—alas, that I should have to say it!—most wofully behind all. The restless elf would not study—was always at the foot of her class, and only laughed at the grave lectures of the teachers; and yawned horribly over the rules of syntax, and the trying names in her botany. So poor Gipsy left little better than when she entered.
The folding-doors of Mr. Moore's spacious drawing-room were thrown open, blazing with light and radiant with brilliantly-dressed ladies. Miss Jennie had resolved that the first ball should surpass anything that had taken place that winter. All the elite of the city, wealth, beauty, fashion, gallantry, and talent, were mingled in gay confusion. There were soft rustling of silks, and waving of perfumed handkerchiefs, and flirting of fans, and flirting of belles; and bright ladies cast killing glances from their brilliant eyes; and gentlemen bowed and smiled, and paid compliments, and talked all sorts of nonsense, and
"All went merry as a marriage bell."
Near the upper end of the room the belle, par excellence, seemed to be; for in her train flowed all that were wittiest, and gayest, and loveliest there. Whenever she moved, a throng of admirers followed; and where the laughter was loudest, the mirth highest, the crowd greatest, there might you find the center of attraction, this belle of whom I am speaking.
And yet she was not beautiful; at least, not beautiful when compared with many there who were neglected for her. She is floating now in a gay waltz round the room with a distinguished foreigner, and "I will paint her as I see her."
A small, slight, straight, lithe figure, airy and bird-like in its motions, skimming over the floor without seeming to touch it; never at rest; but quick, sudden, abrupt, and startling in all its motions, yet every motion instinct, glowing with life. A dark, bright, laughing little face, that no one knows whether it is handsome or not, it is so radiant, so bewitching, so sparkling, so full of overflowing mirth and mischief. Short, crisp black curls, adorning the sauciest little head in the world; wicked brown eyes, fairly twinkling with wickedness; a rosy little mouth, that seemed always laughing to display the little pearly teeth. Such was the star of the evening. Reader, do you recognize her?
As she seated herself after the dance, tired and a little fatigued, Jennie Moore, a pretty, graceful girl, came up to her, saying, in a low voice:
"Oh, Gipsy, I have a stranger to introduce to you—a most distinguished one. One of the cleverest and most talented young lawyers in Washington."