"I could never think of it."

"Come, girls," cried Miss Willing, "let us dress her just once."

"Oh, but just for a half-hour," they said, and gathered around her,
laughing, urgent.

Nice Christians these! She would not. Mother would not like it, and--ah,
me, she was not unwilling to see herself once in the long cheval-glass.
She had had naughty dreams of brocade and powder. Despite her
resistance, they had off the prim Quaker dress, and blushing,
half-angry, half-pleased, she was in slim attire, saying: "Thou really
must not. My stockings, oh, not my stockings! Oh, Molly Greenleaf, how
can I? It is dreadful--please not." But the silk stockings were on, and
the garters, with compliments my modest pen declines to preserve. There
was enough of the maiden neck in view above the undervest, and very
splendid length of brocade gown, with lace of the best, and a petticoat,
pearl-tinted, "Because, dear, we are all Quakers," they cried. "And do
keep still, or the powder will be all over thee. What color, girls! Can
it be real? I must kiss thee to see if it be rouge."

"For shame!" cried Margaret, between tears and laughter.

"Now a fan--and patches, Molly Greenleaf! No. The old women wear them;
but gloves, crumpled down at the elbow. So!" She had given up at last.

It was only for a frolic half-hour. "Go now and see thyself." Two of the
merriest seized lighted candles, for the room was made dark by the drawn
curtains, and stood on each side of the long cheval-glass, a pretty
picture, with Margaret before the mirror, shy and blushing. "Great
heavens! you are a wonder! Isn't she, oh, isn't she, the sweetest
thing!"

The Quaker maiden looked down at the rich brocade and then looked up,
and knew that she was beautiful. She stood still, amazed at the
revelation, and the gods who give us uncalled-for thoughts set in her
mind for a moment the figure of the young vicomte. She colored, and
cried, laughing, as she turned away from the glass: "You have had your
way with me, and now--undress me, girls, please. I should scarce know
how."

"Oh, the sweet, innocent thing!" cried they. "But wait a little. Now thy
hair--so--and so, and a bit more powder. La, but you are dangerous!
Where are thy Quaker gown and stockings? Where can they be! Molly
Greenleaf, what have you done with them? And, oh, Cinderella, the
slippers fit to a charm." No one knew where had gone the gown, the
shoes, the shawl, the rest of the simple garb. "The fairy go