FullReads

On a long table in the middle of the room, a dozen delicate caps and head-dresses were set forth. On another lay garlands of French flowers bought for pretty Clara’s own adornment. Several dainty ball-dresses, imported for the gay winter she had expected to pass, hung over chairs and couch, also a velvet mantle Mrs. Barlow wished to sell, while some old lace, well-chosen ribbons, and various elegant trifles gave color and grace to the room.

Clara’s first customer was Mrs. Tower,–a stout florid lady, full of the good-will and the real kindliness which is so sweet in times of trouble.

“My dear girl, how are you, and how is mamma? Now this is charming. Such a capital idea, and just what is needed; a quiet place, where one can come and be made pretty without all the world’s knowing how we do it.” And greeting Clara even more cordially than of old, the good lady trotted about, admiring everything, just as she used to do when she visited the girl in her former home to see and exclaim over any fresh arrival of Paris finery.

“I’ll take this mantle off your hands with pleasure, for I intended to import one, and this saves me so much trouble. Put it up for me, dear, at the price mamma paid for it, not a cent less, because it has never been worn, and I’ve no duties to pay on it, so it is a good bargain for me.”

Then, before Clara could thank her, she turned to the head-gear, and fell into raptures over a delicate affair, all blonde and forget-me-nots.

“Such a sweet thing! I must have it before any one else snaps it up. Try it on, love, and give it a touch if it doesn’t fit.”

Clara knew it would be vain to remonstrate, for Mrs. Tower had not a particle of taste, and insisted on wearing blue, with the complexion of a lobster. On it went, and even the wearer could not fail to see that something was amiss.

“It’s not the fault of the cap, dear. I always was a fright, and my dreadful color spoils whatever I put on, so I have things handsome, and give up any attempt at beauty,” she said, shaking her head at herself in the glass.

“You need not do that, and I’ll show you what I mean, if you will give me leave; for, with your fine figure and eyes, you can’t help being an elegant woman. See, now, how I’ll make even this cap becoming.” And Clara laid the delicate flowers among the blonde behind, where the effect was unmarred by the over-red cheeks, and nothing but a soft ruche lay over the dark hair in front.

“There, isn’t that better?” she asked, with her own blooming face so full of interest it was a pleasure to see her.

“Infinitely better; really becoming, and just what I want with my new silver-gray satin. Dear me, what a thing taste is!” And Mrs. Tower regarded herself with feminine satisfaction in her really fine eyes.

Here a new arrival interrupted them, and Clara went to meet several girls belonging to what had lately been her own set. The young ladies did not quite know how to behave; for, though it seemed perfectly natural to be talking over matters of dress with Clara, there was an air of proud humility about her that made them feel ill at ease, till Nellie, a lively, warm-hearted creature, broke the ice by saying, with a little quiver in her gay voice,–

“It’s no use, girls; we’ve either got to laugh or cry, and I think, on the whole, it would be best for all parties to laugh, and then go on just as we used to do;” which she did so infectiously that the rest joined, and then began to chatter as freely as of old.

“I speak for the opal silk, Clara, for papa has promised me a Worth dress, and I was green with envy when this came,” cried Nellie, secretly wishing she wore caps, that she might buy up the whole dozen.