"Ida, you will look like a dream in this blue silk," said Cynthia, whose plain little face was radiant. "I can hardly wait for Thursday night to come. I am anxious to see you in it."
This little speech was like an arrow in Ida's heart. She remembered with a pang how, but for her deceit, Cynthia would be looking forward to a share in Thursday's festivities.
"You are both too good to me," she said, with quivering lips, and hastily left the room to conceal her tears.
Hastening up stairs, she entered her own room, closed and bolted the door. Then throwing herself on her bed, she buried her face in the pillows, sobbing unrestrainedly.
She lay there for some time after the tears had spent themselves, thinking of Aunt Patty's magnanimity and her own unworthiness. But communication with her own spirit, while it made her wretched and conscience-stricken, gave her no moral courage. She felt that to apologize to Aunt Patty, and to confess to Cynthia that she had deceived her, would involve a deeper mortification than she would be able to endure.
"Oh, dear!" she sighed. "Somehow I am all out of step with everything."
CHAPTER VI.
On the eventful Thursday, when Ida attired herself in the blue silk, she quite fulfilled her little sister's expectations. The dress was made simply, but was so becoming that Aunt Patty and Cynthia were profuse in their expressions of admiration. But in spite of this—perhaps because of it—Ida felt no elation, and started off to the lawn party with a heavy heart. Mrs. Lennox had kindly sent a carriage for her, knowing that the only vehicle Aunt Patty possessed was a light uncovered wagon, and her only steed a heavy old horse used in the farm work.
"You are like a princess, going off in all this style," said Cynthia, as she accompanied her sister to the gate, near which the pair of black horses in their silver-mounted harness stood impatiently pawing the ground, "and I hope you'll have the grandest kind of a time."
Ida's only reply was a heavy sigh.