hetic and admiring? She
sat and thought. In the depths of her nature she felt that she couldn't
give George up, couldn't make up her mind to lose him; and why should
she, since they loved each other? What could she do?

Of a sudden she paused. She remembered how, more than a year before, she
had been invited to Eureka for a ball. She had stayed with her friend
Miss Jennie Blood; by whose advice and with whose help she had worn for
the first time a low-necked dress. She had been uncomfortable in it at
first, very uncomfortable, but the men liked it, all of them. She had
seen their admiration in their eyes; as Jennie had said, it fetched
them. If only George could see her in a low-necked dress--she flushed
as she thought of it--perhaps he'd admire her, and then she'd be quite
happy. But there were never any balls or parties in this dead-and-alive
township! How could she manage it?

The solution came to her with a shock of half-frightened excitement. It
was warm still, very warm, in the middle of the day; why shouldn't she
dress as for a dance, somethin' like it anyway, and go into George's
room to put it straight just before he came home from school? Her heart
beat quickly as she reflected. After all, what harm was there in it? She
recollected hearing that in the South all the girls wore low dresses
in summer, and she loved George, and she was sure he loved her. Any one
would do it, and no one would know. She resolved to try on the dress,
just to see how it suited her. There was no harm in that. She took off
her thin cotton gown quickly, and put on the ball-dress. But when she
had dragged the chest of drawers before the window and had propped up
the little glass on it to have a good look at herself, she grew hot. She
couldn't wear that, not in daylight; it looked, oh, it looked--and she
blushed crimson. Besides, the tulle was all frayed and faded. No,
she couldn't wear it! Oh!--and her eyes filled with tears of envy and
vexation. If only she were rich, like lots of other girls, she could
have all sorts of dresses. 'Twas unfair, so it was. She became desperate
with disappointment, and set her wits to work again. She had plenty of
time still. George wouldn't be back before twelve. She must choose a
dress he had never seen; then he wouldn't know but what she often wore
it so. Nervously, hurriedly, she selected a cotton frock, and before the
tiny glass pinned and arranged it over her shoulders and bust, higher
than the ball-