Cry? No, I did not cry: I had been brought up not to cry; but I
suffered, my dear, as one does suffer at seventeen. I thought of
jumping out of the window and running away, back to Miss Persis; I
thought of going to bed, and saying I was ill. It was true, I said
to myself, with feverish violence: I _was_ ill, sick with shame and
mortification and disappointment. Appear before this gay party,
dressed like my own great-grandmother? I would rather die! A person
might easily die of such distress as this--and so on, and so on!

Suddenly, like a cool touch on my brow, came a thought, a word of my
Uncle John's, that had helped me many a time before.

"Endeavor, my dear, to maintain a sense of proportion!"

The words fell with weight on my distracted mind. I sat up straight
in the armchair into which I had flung myself, face downward. Was
there any proportion in this horror? I shook myself, then put the
two sides together, and looked at them. On one side, two lovely old
ladies, one of whom I could perhaps help a little, both of whom I
could gratify; on the other, my own--dear me! was it vanity? I
thought of the two sweet old faces, shining with kindness; I fancied
the distress, the disappointment, that might come into them, if I--

"Yes, dear uncle," I said aloud, "I have found the proportion!" I
shook myself again, and began to dress. And now a happy thought
struck me. Glancing at the portrait on the wall, I saw that the fair
girl was dressed in green. Was it? Yes, it must be--it was--the very
same dress! Quickly, and as neatly as I could, I arranged my hair in
two great puffs, with a butterfly knot on the top of my head, in the
style of the picture; if only I had the high comb! I slipped on the