Then I composed myself, laid aside my bonnet, and set about my task in right earnest. As I proceeded, I could not help feeling a certain amount of womanly satisfaction in my own skill; the ruffled lace looked delicate and creamy when I arranged it about my neck, and surveyed myself in the glass. Nurse came to me, late in the afternoon, and insisted on brushing my thick hair with her own hands, and twisting it up in sunny coils, in a fashion which could not have been improved upon. We both tried valiantly to persuade ourselves that the black silk gown looked very well indeed; we even decided that it was a mistake for silk to be too lustrous and new; and as to the fichu of creamy lace, it called forth cries of rapturous admiration. Nurse walked backward to get the full effect of me, and fell to gesticulating wildly in her efforts to make me understand how well I looked. But although her honest flattery was very sweet, I knew that it was a changed face that I saw reflected in the glass; a face which lacked the softness of contour, and freshness of colouring, which are the chief charms of youth. The springtide of life was gone. Instead of the Louie of old days, I beheld a pale, fragile little woman, with pathetic eyes, that seemed to have grown larger and darker of late, and lips that quivered painfully with any passing emotion. This was what my love-match had made of me. "Don't you recollect the parties at the rectory, ma'am?" said nurse, still hovering round me. "And the white muslin with the red spots, that you looked so nice in? And the curate, who was that silly about you that we used to fear for his poor brain? And Farmer Danby's son a-capering whenever you came in his way? Capering Danby was his name from one end of the village to the other, and yet he was as still a man as one could wish to see, till you turned his head. Not that you ever trifled with him, Miss Louie; that was far from you, ma'am. But you captivated him, innocent-like; and the simple soul was never the same again." While the old woman talked, I called up a vision of my old country home, and the rustic swains whose antics had amused me in those early days. The scent of fields full of long grass, came drifting back; the young roses were in bloom on our cottage walls; the lanes leading to the rectory were fragrant with a wealth of hawthorn blossoms. I was a girl again, with a girl's unawakened heart and childish fancies, like the little princess in a fairy tale, standing among leafy ways and watching for the prince's coming. Then the clock of St. Peter's struck six, and I heard a well-known knock which brought me back to the realities of my present life. The prince had come indeed; and the poor little shabby princess must get out his evening suit, and lay his fresh linen on the bed, all ready for the royal wearer.