Margaret Maliphant

								

spent upon the garden cliff at the sun-setting.

CHAPTER X.

I think I saw the dawn that day on which the ball was to be. Whether I
did or not, the morning was still very gray and cold when I crept out
of my bed and stole to the wardrobe to look at our two dresses. There
they hung, carefully displayed upon shifting pegs such as were used in
old-fashioned presses: one soft white muslin; the other of that pale
apple-green shot silk which had belonged to mother in the days of her
youth, and which I had been allowed to make up for the occasion. We had
worked at them for days.
Joyce was clever at dress-making: she was clever at all things that
needed deftness of fingers. She had fitted me with my frock, and we
had both worked together. But now the dresses were finished, the last
ruffle had been tacked in; there was nothing more to do, and the day
wore away very slowly till evening.
At last the hour came when it was time to dress, and such a washing of
faces and brushing of hair as went on in that little attic chamber for
half an hour no one would believe.
Joyce insisted on "finishing" me first. She coiled up my hair at the
back of my head, brushing it as neatly as she could, and laying it in
two thick bands on either side of my temples. It never will look very
neat, it is such vigorous unruly hair, this red hair of mine, and to
this day always has tendrils escaping here and there over forehead and
neck. But she did her best for it, and I was pleased with myself. I was
still more pleased with myself when I got on the green shot silk with
the lace ruffles. Joyce said she was surprised to see what a change it
made in me. So was I.
My skin was very pink and white wherever it was not spoiled by
freckles, and the green of the frock seemed to show it up and make the
red lips look redder than ever. It is true that my neck and arms were
frail still with the frailness of youth, but then my figure was slim
too, and my eyes were black with excitement, and shone till they were
twice their usual size. I thought, as I looked in the glass, that I was
not so very plain. Yes, I was right when I had begged the shot silk.
Joyce could wear anything, but I, who was no "fine bird" by nature,
needed the "fine feathers."
I was pleased with myself, and I smiled with satisfaction when Joyce
declared again that she was quite surprised to see what a good
appearance I had. "If you would only keep yourself tidy, Margaret, you
have no idea how much better you would look," said she.
It was what Deborah was always saying, but I did not resent it from
Joyce--she was gentle in her way of saying it; and I remember that I
promised I would brush my hair smooth in future, and wear my collars
more daintily. I do not believe that I kept to my resolution, but that
evening I was not at all the Margaret of every-day life as I surveyed
myself in the glass.
"But come," said I, hurriedly--half ashamed of myself, I do