into the tree, lifted the cover of the box, and, behold, there was
disclosed within a lovely white apparition in a somewhat flattened
state. It was the ball-dress.

This marvel of art was, briefly, a sort of heavenly cobweb. It was a
gossamer texture of precious manufacture, artistically festooned in a
dozen flounces or more.

Margery lifted it, and could hardly refrain from kissing it. Had any
one told her before this moment that such a dress could exist, she
would have said, 'No; it's impossible!' She drew back, went forward,
flushed, laughed, raised her hands. To say that the maker of that
dress had been an individual of talent was simply understatement: he
was a genius, and she sunned herself in the rays of his creation.

She then remembered that her friend without had told her to make
haste, and she spasmodically proceeded to array herself. In removing
the dress she found satin slippers, gloves, a handkerchief nearly all
lace, a fan, and even flowers for the hair. 'O, how could he think
of it!' she said, clasping her hands and almost crying with
agitation. 'And the glass--how good of him!'

Everything was so well prepared, that to clothe herself in these
garments was a matter of ease. In a quarter of an hour she was
ready, even to shoes and gloves. But what led her more than anything
else into admiration of the Baron's foresight was the discovery that
there were half-a-dozen pairs each of shoes and gloves, of varying
sizes, out of which she selected a fit.

Margery glanced at herself in the mirror, or at as much as she could