it."

"What clothes am I to take?" she asked her mother, in a tone which she
mentally denominated "quiet and cold," though possibly some people might
have called it "sullen."

"Your clothes are already packed, dear," replied Mrs. Graham; "you have
only to pack your dressing-bag, to be all ready for the start to-morrow.
See, here is your trunk, locked and strapped, and waiting for the
porter's shoulder;" and she showed Hilda a stout, substantial-looking
trunk, bearing the initials H.G.

"But, mamma," Hilda began, wondering greatly, "my dresses are all
hanging in my wardrobe."

"Not all of them, dear!" said her mother, smiling. "Hark! papa is
calling you. Make haste and go down, for dinner is ready."

Wondering more and more, Hildegarde made a hasty toilet, putting on the
pretty pale blue cashmere dress which her father specially liked, with
silk stockings to match, and dainty slippers of bronze kid. As she
clasped the necklace of delicate blue and silver Venetian beads which
completed the costume, she glanced into the long cheval-glass which
stood between the windows, and could not help giving a little approving
nod to her reflection. Though not a great beauty, Hildegarde was
certainly a remarkably pretty and even distinguished-looking girl; and
"being neither blind nor a fool," she soliloquized, "where is the harm
in acknowledging it?" But the next moment the thought came: "What
difference will it make, in a stupid farm-house, whether I am pretty or
not? I might as well be a Hottentot!" and with the "quiet and cold" look