very cozy and merry time
together.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE BEAUTIFUL DRESS.

That evening, as Ermengarde was standing in her room, surveying with
critical eyes the heaps of finery she had brought with her, Lilias
knocked at her door.

"Come in," said Ermengarde.

Lilias had on a blue flannel dressing-jacket, and her long, bright,
golden hair was streaming down her back.

"I've rushed in to tell you," she exclaimed excitedly, "we are both to
come down to dinner to-night. Two guests have disappointed mother. She
has just had a telegram; Colonel Vavasour is ill, and of course his
wife can't leave him, so you and I are to fill the vacant places at
table. I do hope you won't mind, Ermie."

"I?" said Ermengarde, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, no; I shan't mind; I
like dining with grown people. I think it will be rather fun."

"It's sweet of you to take it in that way," said Lilias. "I had
planned a lovely walk by the lake, and we might have got into the
boat, and brought in some water-lilies. Late dinner takes a long,
long time, and it will be much too dark to go to the lake when it is
over."

"I don't mind, really," repeated Ermengarde. She did not want to tell
her friend that her worldly little soul infinitely preferred late
dinner and a talk with some of the grown-up guests to a ramble with
Lilias by the side of the lake.

"We can go to the lake another time, Lilias," she said, "and it seems
only right to oblige your mother now."

"Thank you for putting it in that way to me," said Lilias. She went up
to Ermengarde and kissed her. "What have you got to wear?" she asked.
"I know mother would like such young girls as we are to be dressed
very simply. I shall just put on a white muslin, a white silk sash
round my waist."

"Oh, I have a white dress, too," said Ermengarde, in a careless tone.
"I am sure I shall manage very well."

Her dark eyes grew brighter and brighter as she spoke.

"I must not stay to chat with you, Ermie," said Lilias, looking at her
friend with admiration. "Mother is so afraid you will miss your maid,
you shall have as much of Petite's time as ever I can possibly spare."

"Who is Petite?" asked Ermengarde.

"Oh, she's my dear little maid. We brought her over from France last
year. She was never out anywhere before, and I'm so fond of her. Her
name is Lucile Marat, but I call her Petite, because she is on a small
scale, and so neat in every way. It was she who unpacked your things.
I'll