The Green Satin Gown | Page 3

something that will do very well for you. If you like to go to your room
now, my maid will attend you, and bring what is necessary. We expect
our guests in time for supper, at eight o'clock."
Decidedly, I had walked into a fairy tale, or else I was dreaming! Here I
sat in a room hung with flowered damask, in a wonderful chair, by a
wonderful fire; and a fairy, little and withered and brown, dressed in
what I knew must be black bombazine, though I knew it only from
descriptions, was bringing me tea, and plum-cake, on a silver tray. She

looked at me with kind, twinkling eyes, and said she would bring the
dress at once; then left me to my own wondering fancies. I hardly knew
what to be thinking of, so much was happening: more, it seemed, in
these few hours, than in all my life before. I tried to fix my mind on the
gay party that would soon fill the silent house with life and tumult; I
tried to fancy how Miss Effie Gay would look, and what she would say
to me; but my mind kept coming back to the dress, the evening dress,
that I was to be privileged to wear. What would it be like? Would silk
or muslin be prettier? If only it were not pink! A red-haired girl in pink
was a sad sight!
Looking up, I saw a portrait on the wall, of a beautiful girl, in a curious,
old-time costume. The soft dark eyes and regal turn of the head told me
that it was my hostess in her youth; and even as I looked, I heard the
rustle again, and smelt the faint odor of sandalwood; and Madam Le
Baron came softly in, followed by the fairy maid, bearing a long parcel.
"Your gown, my dear," she said, "I thought you would like to be
preparing for the evening. Undo it, Jessop!"
Jessop lifted fold on fold of tissue-paper. I looked, expecting I know
not what fairy thing of lace and muslin: I saw--the green satin gown!
We were wearing large sleeves then, something like yours at the
present day, and high collars; the fashion was at its height. This gown
had long, tight, wrinkled sleeves, coming down over the hand, and
finished with a ruffle of yellow lace; the neck, rounded and half-low,
had a similar ruffle almost deep enough to be called a ruff; the waist, if
it could be called a waist, was up under the arms: briefly, a costume of
my grandmother's time. Little green satin slippers lay beside it, and a
huge feather-fan hung by a green ribbon. Was this a jest? was it--I
looked up, with burning cheeks and eyes suffused; I met a glance so
kind, so beaming with good-will, that my eyes fell, and I could only
hope that my anguish had not been visible.
"Shall Jessop help you, my dear?" said Madam Le Baron. "You can do
it by yourself? Well, I like to see the young independent. I think the
gown will become you; it has been considered handsome." She glanced

fondly at the shining fabric, and left the room; the maid, after one sharp
glance at me, in which I thought I read an amused compassion,
followed; and I was left alone with the green satin gown.
Cry? No, I did not cry: I had been brought up not to cry; but I suffered,
my dear, as one does suffer at seventeen. I thought of jumping out of
the window and running away, back to Miss Persis; I thought of going
to bed, and saying I was ill. It was true, I said to myself, with feverish
violence: I was ill, sick with shame and mortification and
disappointment. Appear before this gay party, dressed like my own
great-grandmother? I would rather die! A person might easily die of
such distress as this--and so on, and so on!
Suddenly, like a cool touch on my brow, came a thought, a word of my
Uncle John's, that had helped me many a time before.
"Endeavor, my dear, to maintain a sense of proportion!"
The words fell with weight on my distracted mind. I sat up straight in
the armchair into which I had flung myself, face downward. Was there
any proportion in this horror? I shook myself, then put the two sides
together, and looked at them. On one side, two lovely old ladies, one of
whom I could perhaps help a little, both of whom I could gratify; on the
other, my own--dear me! was it vanity? I thought of the two sweet old
faces, shining with kindness; I fancied the distress, the disappointment,
that might come into them, if I--
"Yes, dear uncle," I said