"Yes, I can see better," said Rose, in a whisper. "It's beautiful,
Charlotte."

The dress was spread widely over the bed in crisp folds. It was
purple, plaided vaguely with cloudy lines of white and delicate
rose-color. Over it lay a silvery lustre that was the very light of
the silken fabric.

Rose felt it reverently. "How thick it is!" said she.

"Yes, it's a good piece," Charlotte replied.

"You thought you'd have purple?"

"Yes, he liked it."

"Well, it's pretty, and it's becoming to you."

Charlotte took up the skirt, and slipped it, loud with silken
whispers, over her head. It swept out around her in a great circle;
she looked like a gorgeous inverted bell-flower.

"It's beautiful," Rose said.

Charlotte's face, gazing downward at the silken breadths, had quite
its natural expression. It was as if her mind in spite of herself
would stop at old doors.

"Try on the waist," pleaded Rose.