unclassic in mould, if criticised separately, taken as a whole,
formed a picture of surpassing fascination. If her eyes and cleft
chin meant mischief, her mouth engaged to make amends by smiles and
seductive words, more sweet than honey, because their flavor would
never clog upon him who tasted thereof. Her attire was striking--it
would have been bizarre upon any other lady in the room, but it
enhanced the small stranger's beauty. A black robe--India silk or
silk grenadine, or some other light and lustrous material--was
bespangled with butterflies, gilded, green, and crimson, the many
folds of the skirt flowing to the carpet in a train designed to add
to apparent height, and, in front, allowing an enchanting glimpse of
a tiny slipper, high in the instep, and tapering prettily toward the
toe. In her hair were glints of a curiously-wrought chain, wound
under and among the bandeaux; on her wrists, plump and dimpled as a
baby's, more chain-work of the like precious metal, ending in
tinkling fringe that swung, glittering, to and fro, with the
restless motion of the elfin hands, she never ceased to clasp and
chafe and fret one with the other, while she thus stood and awaited
the decision of her companions. But instead of detracting from the
charm of her appearance, the seemingly unconscious gesture only
heightened it. It was the overflow of the exuberant vitality that
throbbed redly in her cheeks, flashed in her eye, and made buoyant
her step.

"What an artless sprite it is!" said one old gentleman, who had
stared at her from the instant of her entrance, in mute enjoyment,
to the great amusement of his more knowing nephews.

"All but the artless!" rejoined one of the sophisticated youngsters.
"She is gotten up too well for that. Ten to one she is an