"And, Aunt Marg'ret," to grandmother, "why didn't you keep _your_ little girl shut up in a band-box, while all the other girls were having good times and getting lovers? She might have been a queer, particular, fidgety old maid, instead of having a nice family for us to quarrel over."
"I will buy her a new dress," said grandmother.
"She doesn't want anything but a few yards of tarleton. She won't be likely to get into the papers. She and Miss Daisy will sit and look on, and just whisper to each other, and feel afraid to say their souls are their own; but they'll enjoy the pretty dressing and the dancing, and they will see how the thing is done when it comes their turn in good earnest."
So Mrs. Underhill had to give in. Grandmother slipped five dollars in Miss Cynthia's hand, as she was going away.
"If that falls short, I'll give you some more. And you just buy that tarleton."
Hanny wasn't quite sure, and never said a word at school until the very day. But she and Daisy had a thrill of delight talking it over. Miss Cynthia came armed with the tarleton. The skirt was let down; but girls' long dresses were not sweeping length in those days. Then it was covered with narrow ruffles that suggested drifting clouds over an azure sky. The bodice was not outgrown, after all. It was covered with the tarleton, and had a fall of beautiful old lace around the shoulders, a pretty frill at the neck, and short sleeves. Joe bought her white gloves, and she had a blue sash.
Miss Cynthia came in to dress her; but the little girl had a quivering fear that something had happened to her maid, for it was full eight o'clock. She put her back hair in a French twist, much worn then, with two big rings right on the top of her head that looked like a crown. Her front hair she curled over an iron, and then combed it out; and it was a mass of fluffy waves, gathered in bandeaux just above her ears. She had her mother's beautiful pearl earrings, that had come from France with the old French grandmother, and a handsome mother-of-pearl-topped comb in her hair.
They put on the ball-dress. "Now look at yourself," said Miss Cynthia, "and get used to it before I let in the folks."
Hanny stood before her mother's tall mirror. Oh, this was Miss Nan Underhill, and she had never seen her before. There was a mystery about her,--a sudden sense of a strange, beautiful, unseen world, a new country she was going into, an old world left behind, an intangible recreation that no words could explain, but that touched her with a kind of exalted sacredness, as if a new life was unfolding all about her. She hardly dared stir or breathe.