“Oh, mamma, that would be delightful,” exclaimed Clara. “I know I will enjoy my time with cousin Florence; and then, you know, the city is so gay a place. I would be too happy to go.”
“So I think, my dear,” replied her mother, “and therefore if you wish it I have no possible objection; but how can you leave Mr. Seymour?” added she, archly.
“Why, ma,” exclaimed Clara, blushing deeply, “what is Mr. Seymour to me?”
“Ah, Clara,” replied Mrs. Delmont, “I know what he is to you, better than you are willing to acknowledge to yourself. But seriously, my dear child, you must decide at once, so that I may write an answer to your cousin’s letter.”
“Of course, mamma, I should be delighted to go.” And Mrs. Delmont retired to write the letter, while Clara indulged herself in a long walk, in order to meditate on the news, and to anticipate the delights of a visit to the city.
On the appointed day, after assisting the cook to make a rich plum-cake, and some delicate tarts, she repaired to the parlor, which she had taken great care and pains to assist her mother in furnishing as handsomely as their circumstances would allow, and arranged with faultless taste the brilliant flowers which her little brother and sister, who were now entirely in the spirit of preparation, had gathered, and placed the nuts they had cracked in a silver basket on the carefully polished table, fastened back the snowy curtains, with white chrysanthemums interspersed with their rich green leaves, adjusting them so as to throw the most advantageous light on a beautiful painting which she herself had executed. From the parlor Clara proceeded to the apartment which she intended for her cousin: it opened on a grove in which were several rustic seats and boxes of flowers, and through an opening in the trees the broad river was seen to glide calmly on through banks now dressed in the brightest colors of an American autumn. The furniture of this room was Clara’s peculiar taste, and it well accorded with the simplicity and purity of her own mind. The counterpane, curtains and toilet were white as a snow-drift; the curtains being on this occasion looped up with crimson roses, and the toilet beautifully embroidered by Clara’s own hand, and on it were laid a handsome Bible and Prayer-Book; and she finished her preparations by taking a rich and antique China vase, frosted with silver, which she prized not a little, and placing it on the table, filled it with the choicest flowers the garden afforded.
“Oh, mamma,” cried Clara, “come here;” and throwing open the parlor-door, she exhibited the apartment; “come here and see how you like my arrangements for cousin Florence; are not those flowers beautiful?”
“And will not Cousin Florence admire our new carpet, mamma?” said little Rosa.
“I dare say,” said Clara, “it is handsomer than Cousin Florence’s, as it is in all probability so much newer.”
“Yes, my dears,” said Mrs. Delmont, smiling at the simplicity of the young girls, while she was careful not to destroy their pleasant anticipations by undeceiving them. “Yes, my dears, every thing looks very sweet and pretty; those flowers are really beautiful, and I give you a great deal of credit for your good taste. Come, daughters, and show me your cousin’s room.”