“Ever since he saw this girl—I wish that shawl had been in the bottom of the Red Sea! Oh! if I had her within reach of my cane-parasol for ten minutes! Did you ever see such a great, tall thing as she is? Sweeps along like a peacock. Oh, mercy! There he is coming! Don’t tell him that I’ve been here. I’ll run down the back stairs, and out through the garden!” CHAPTER XXXII. DRESSING FOR THE PARTY. Eva Laurence was dressing for her first party, and the very anticipation of its delights gave resplendence to the wonderful beauty of her face. She was young, ambitious, and rich in that vivid talent which doubles enjoyment and gives a keener edge to pain than ordinary natures ever endure. Ruth was sitting up, among the cushions of her couch, looking bright and happy as an angel. Her soft eyes were full of serene love-light; a faint color came and went in her cheeks; and little quivers of delight stirred her fingers, as she smoothed the drifts of snow-white tarlatan that draped her sister’s slender person. “Oh, how beautiful it is! How soft and white! You look like a bride, Eva!” “Or a ghost!” muttered Mrs. Laurence, in a troubled undertone. “The ghost of a child we have sheltered and loved, but who will belong to others when we want her most.” “What are you saying, mother?” cried Eva, who was stooping forward to look at herself in a little mirror between the windows, which just took in the outlines of her splendid neck and shoulders. “Something about my dress that you don’t like, I suppose. It was extravagant spending so much money; but you must scold Ruth. She would do it, wouldn’t you, Ruthy, dear?” “Oh, yes! mother must scold me! but she won’t do it, in earnest. I’m not afraid. Didn’t she work like a regular seamstress, to help finish the dress; and isn’t it beautiful? All it wants is a little warm color.” “It wants nothing in the world,” said Eva, passing both hands over the dark braids of hair that fell in rich loops down her neck, making its whiteness like the leaves of a magnolia flower. “I never was dressed so well in my life, and, perhaps, never shall be again, who knows?” “I know,” answered Ruth. “These fashionable people adore good looks; and, oh! sister Eva, how beautiful you are! Come down here, and let me kiss you. How warm and red your cheeks are; it is like feeling a peach at one’s lips. How I would love to paint you just this way, only a little color in the dress. I insist on that for the picture; it costs nothing, you know.” “Come in,” Mrs. Laurence called, a little sharply, for she was ill at ease that evening, and even a knock at the door annoyed her.