So far, the course of my new life ran smoothly and calmly on, but an
impediment was looming up in the near distance. Mrs. Hartmann's cards
were out for her annual brilliant "At Home." Every one was whispering
about and speculating in a hopeful way, as people do when a grand
social event of this nature is on the _tapis_. My step-mother spent
the whole of the day before among her fragments of small finery,
re-arranging tumbled laces and trimmings, and sorting her handsome
jewels. I gave my afternoon leisure to Hortense, writing her a most
minute and graphic account of my initiation into fashionable life, my
progress and its probable result.
When the eventful night came and the gas was lighted all was hurry and
flurry and confusion in our home. My step-mother and I repaired to our
rooms in quiet walking costumes which we had worn in the afternoon,
and an hour or so later we emerged in the fullest ball-toilet. I was
ready first, and gathering up my expensive train of satin and oriental
lace, I glided across the hall and tapped at my step-mother's bedroom.
In answer to a faint "come in," I admitted myself just in time to see
the faithful Janet bestowing her attention upon the bare, plump
shoulders of her mistress, who stood before her cheval glass in silent
self-contemplation.
She had only to fasten a necklet of diamonds at her throat, to gather
up her gloves and lace hand-kerchief and allow Janet to wrap her up in
her downy opera cloak, and she was ready.
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