said was to be made for me; for Mrs. Bliss, one of our hotel
acquaintances, had offered to chaperon me to the great ball which
would come off in a few days, and she had accepted the offer for
me.

"There will be no chance for you to take a walk instead," she
finished with.

"I can not dance, you know."

"But you will be *there*."


I was sent to a dress-maker of Mrs. Bliss's recommending; but I
ordered the dress to be made after my own design, long plain
sleeves, and high plain corsage, and requested that it should not
be sent home till the evening of the ball. Before it came off Mr.
Uxbridge called, and was graciously received by Aunt Eliza, who
could be gracious to all except her relatives. I could not but
perceive, however, that they watched each other in spite of their
lively conversation. To me he was deferential, but went over the
ground of our acquaintance as if it had been the most natural thing
in the world. But for my life-long habit of never calling in
question the behavior of those I came in contact with, and of never
expecting any thing different from that I received, I might have
wondered over his visit. Every person's individuality was sacred to
me, from the fact, perhaps, that my own individuality had never
been respected by any person with whom I had any relation--not even
by my own mother.