r friend's door.

Ermengarde was now arrayed in the white _chiffon_ dress; it touched
the ground, and swept away in a short train at the back. It was cut a
little open at the neck, and the round childish arms were bare to the
elbow. Round her throat Ermengarde had hung Marjorie's Maltese cross,
and among the masses of her high piled-up hair reposed a lovely pearl
butterfly. The dress was most unsuitable, but the childish face,
colored high now with excitement and gratified vanity, looked quite
radiant in its loveliness.

Petite was in ecstasies.

"Ma'mselle looks as if she had stepped out of one of the old
picture-frames," she said. "Look how beautiful I have contrived her
hair to sit."

Lilias did not say much. She was an intensely polite girl, and she
crushed back the exclamation of dismay which rose to her lips. Her
own appearance was the extreme of simplicity. Her muslin frock was
short; her little white shoes and silk stockings were visible. Round
her waist she wore a plain white sash, and her golden hair fell in
masses down her back.

While Petite was dressing her, Ermengarde's silly heart was mounting
on higher and higher wings of gratified delight. But when she looked
at Lilias, an uneasy sensation came over her for the first time.

"Come," said Lilias in her gentle voice, "we'll go down to the
drawing-room, and stay together near one of the windows. I don't
suppose anyone will take us in to dinner; but that does not
matter--we'll take one another in."

"Do you like my dress?" suddenly asked Ermengarde.

"Well, Ermie, isn't it just a little old?"

"Nonsense, Aunt Elizabeth gave it to me. She ought to know, I
suppose."

Ermengarde did not care to mention then that the dress was a cast-off
garment of her Aunt Elizabeth's.

The two girls went downstairs hand in hand. Ermie's long dress and
train made her feel awkward. She began to be more and more sure that
her evening attire, notwithstanding its great beauty, was unsuitable.
She hoped no one would specially notice her. She felt uncomfortable as
she saw several pairs of eyes fixed upon her, as she and Lilias walked
across the drawing-room.

The two girls got behind the shelter of a curtain, and Ermengarde
rejoiced in the fact that her father had not yet come downstairs.

A few more minutes went by; the guests arrived in twos and
threes--then dinner was announced. As Lilias had foretold, she and
Ermengarde were to take each other in to dinner. They