The face, we have so imperfectly described, was turned toward a flight of stairs that led from the more general warerooms below, and across it flew a shadow of pride or pain, as a party of ladies, accompanied by one gentleman, came up the stairs, and loitered along the show-room, where she was standing. One of the clerks went forward to meet the party, and turning, walked by the side of the younger lady, who came on somewhat in advance of the rest, politely attentive to business. “Shawls, did you say?” “Yes,” answered the young lady, smiling blandly in the face of the clerk, whose soft amber beard stirred almost imperceptibly with an answering smile. “I scarcely know yet what we do want; but my friend has a perfect passion for shawls, and I dare say will add another to the variety she has stored away in her cedar-closet, where even the moths are forbidden to touch them. Oh Mrs. Lambert! here is something lovely!” The elder lady came forward, and, taking out her gold-mounted eye-glass, examined the shawl which had struck the young lady’s attention. It was, indeed, a fabric of wonderful beauty, soft, firm, and wrought in with a splendor of harmonious colors, which the most perfect taste alone could appreciate. But the lady who examined this exquisite workmanship well understood its value, and after making herself mistress of all its perfections, quietly inquired the price. The sum named would have bought a pretty homestead for some poor family in the country. The lady seemed in no way surprised by the amount, but took the shawl from its stand, while the young lady beckoned the girl, who had withdrawn a little way off, to try it on. This young creature came forward, not blushing under the astonished eyes turned upon her, but rather growing pale, with a keen feeling of humiliation, and submitted her queenly person to be enveloped in the rich folds of the shawl. When she felt all those strange eyes upon her the color came back to her face, while the downcast lashes swept her glowing cheeks, and her lips began to quiver, as if a burst of tears were struggling upward. “Mother,” said the young gentleman, in a low voice, “the counter would be a better place.” “No, no!” broke in the very positive young person, whom the elder lady addressed as Miss Spicer, who leaned forward and touched the shoulder over which the shawl was draped with her parasol. “Nothing like a live person to carry off a thing like this. Please move forward and let us see how it falls upon the train. Superb, isn’t it?”