She was not one of those
impolitic women, who fancy that they double their happiness by imparting
it to others.
She determined to dress with extraordinary care. The occasion warranted
it, surely; for it was not only Christmas Eve, it was also her betrothal
eve. She put on her richest garment, a handsome gown of dark blue silk
and velvet. A spray of mistletoe-berries was in her black hair, and a
glittering necklace of fine sapphires enhanced the beauty and whiteness
of her exquisite neck and shoulders. She was delighted with the effect
of her own brave apparel, and also a little excited with the course
events had taken, or she never would have so far forgotten the
privileges of her elder birth as to visit Charlotte's room first on
such an important personal occasion.
Charlotte was still wrapped in her dressing-gown, lazily musing before
the crackling, blazing fire. Her hands were clasped above her head, her
feet comfortably extended upon the fender, her eyes closed. She had been
a little tired with buffeting the storm; and the hot tea, which Mrs.
Sandal had insisted upon as a preventative of cold, had made her, as she
told Sophia, "deliciously dozy."
"But dinner will be ready in half an hour, and you have to dress yet,
Charlotte. How do I look?"
"You look charming. How bright your eyes are, Sophia! I never saw you
look so well. How much Julius will admire you to-night!"
"As to that, Julius always admires me.
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