But, when at last sleep came to her in her little white bed, on the
silvery tide of the moon, it carried a dream to slip up under the
tight-closed eyes. . .
The ball is at its height. The door of the conservatory opens and a
fair young creature steals in. She is fairer than the flowers
themselves as, with a pretty consciousness of her own grace, she
advances into the bower. Her throat is fair and rounded under the
diamonds that are no brighter than her own great grey eyes; her nut-
brown locks lie in heavy masses on her well-shaped head, while
across her forehead a few rebellious tresses wantonly wander.
She suddenly sees in the shadows that other figure which has started
perceptibly at her entrance; a tall and eminently gloomy figure,
with hair of a rare blackness, and eyes dark and insouciant but
admiring withal.
With a silken frou-frou she glides toward him, happy and radiant,
for she is in her airiest mood tonight.
"Is not my dress charming, Mr. Brown?" she cries with charming
naivete. "Does it not become me?"
"It is as lovely as its wearer," replied the other, with a
suppressed sigh.
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