The reigning belle

Ruth Laurence kept her secret. An idea had entered her head which she was resolved to carry out, unaided and alone. At first she longed to tell her good fortune to her mother; but Mrs. Laurence was never sympathetic or impulsive enough to win that loving confidence which Ruth longed to give. She had thought her own thoughts, and suppressed her natural impulses so long, that this precious secret became as gold to a miser, after she had dwelt upon it, unspoken for a few hours.

One thing was certain: Eva should go to this party dressed like the lady she was. Enough of the money under her pillow should be used for that. Her own frail fingers had earned this great happiness for her sister.

Tears came into those soft eyes as Ruth thought of it: tender, sweet tears, such as the good and unselfish alone can shed. She murmured to herself: “Yes, it shall be snow-white, and fleecy as foam. I have the idea in my mind, with a contrast—something brilliant and rich. Still, she does not need that to make her the most beautiful of them all. Dear Eva! what a surprise it will be! Here she comes, looking so tired!”

Eva came into the little parlor weary and sad; for the duties of her position were frequently galling to the pride of a high-spirited girl; and every hour some painful contrast was forced upon her which disturbed her sense of justice. While the family had been in absolute want, this feeling was held in abeyance by all those active sympathies that trample down minor causes of grief under great afflictions, but now the proud nature of the girl asserted itself, and strongly cynical and bitter feelings were rooting themselves in her young heart.

Eva took off her bonnet, and, kneeling down by her sister’s couch, kissed her tenderly.

“Why, Ruthy, how warm your cheek is! How your arms cling to me! What is the matter? It seems like joy—but how can that come here?”

“A pleasant thing has happened, Eva, dear. You are invited to a splendid party in the Fifth Avenue. Look here!”

Eva caught her breath. An invitation to her! She took the square fold of paper, and, dazzled by the monogram, began to examine it with that nervous curiosity which makes so many people hesitate to learn the truth at once.

“It is from Mrs. Carter, the sister of that gentleman who looked over my drawings. Such a cheerful, kind woman! She brought it herself, that there might be no mistake, and will send her own carriage for you. Isn’t it delightful?”

“Oh, how I wish it possible!” exclaimed Eva, dropping the invitation from her hand with a pang of absolute despair. “That is what so many people were talking about: all the customers were full of it. I think Mr. Harold has an invitation. But it is of no use; I wish she had not brought it.”

“Oh, Eva!”

“It is just cruel,” answered the girl, throwing herself into a chair, and clasping both hands over her eyes to hide her tears.

“But you are going, Eva. I promised it.”

“You promised! poor darling!”

“I did, indeed. So just wipe your eyes, and let me tell you something. Look here! Hush, now! do not cry out!”

Here Ruth took a twenty-dollar note from under her pillow, and held it up before Eva’s eyes.

“Ruth, Ruth, where did you get that?” cried the girl, in utter amazement.

“Oh, I have been doing bits of work for it on the sly. Eva! Eva! I won’t keep anything from you. Look here! and here! I have earned it all with my pictures, that you thought so pretty. This is for you. Stoop down, and let me whisper what I mean to do with the rest.”

Eva stooped down, and lifted her head again, all in a glow of delight.

“Oh, Ruthy! it seems like fairy-work! You have taken away my breath!”

“They will take more; and that gentleman will teach me how to give them greater perfection. You see it is no dream, sister!”

“And it was your genius that got me this invitation, Ruth,” said Eva, with grateful enthusiasm. “I could not understand it before. It seems almost possible that I may go!”

“Almost! It is quite possible! I have been lying here, with my eyes on the ceiling, thinking over the dress. It must be lovely, you know, but not cost more than this one bill. White tarletan, I should say, with a long train, a flounce or two, and rows on rows of broad, puffy, ruches. Crimson roses in your hair, and a little cluster on your bosom. No! it shall be one, fragrant and half blown, on the left shoulder. No other ornaments.”

“Of course not, you foolish darling! How am I to get them?”

“Not a thing!—just the white and red. To think of it is like painting a picture. I can see you now, with your black hair falling in broad, heavy braids nearly to the shoulders; two or three long ringlets sweeping almost to the waist; just a little coronal of red roses over the forehead; and the dress sweeping away, fold after fold, like dancing white poppies over drifting snow. I tell you, Eva, it will be superb.”

“But how is all this to be done, Ruth?”

“I shall be bolstered up, and sew on it in the day-time. You will help me at night. I tell you, dear, it will be charming.”

“And you, poor dear, will be left at home, and see nothing.”

“What, I! Indeed, you know nothing about it. I shall just lie here, with my hands folded, so, and my eyes shut, thinking over everything as it happens. The way people will look at you, and whisper, ‘Who is that? Isn’t she—’ But I won’t tell you all that I shall see. Be sure you will not enjoy it more than I shall. Then there is James!—won’t it delight him?”

“But mother! what if she forbids it?” said Eva, with sudden dismay. “She might, you know.”

“We must get Mrs. Smith on our side,” said Ruth, faltering a little. “Mrs. Smith, and our James. She cannot stand out against them. But hush! she is at the door.”