'I shall save her,' thinks Gladys, 'if I ruin my own happiness.'
When the dressing is completed, Freda stands before a cheval glass to
see that all is right. Gladys has never before seen her examine every
portion of her attire so minutely, or look so satisfied with the survey.
In truth she never before saw her look so handsome, or so perfectly well
dressed. The full, light, many-skirted blue dress, with its bouquets of
forget-me-nots and lilies, its fringes and ribbons, suits so well the
fine complexion of the very distinguished-looking girl who wears
it--whilst the wreath slightly crowns the well-shaped head, and falls
gracefully down the neck and back in becoming simplicity and elegance.
Poor Freda! She has more colour than usual, more animation in her eyes,
and more anxiety at her heart. Were she to analyse her feelings, she
would thoroughly despise herself for the envy, vanity, and distrust she
would find in them, and think herself unworthy of the name of woman for
allowing herself to study to gain the attentions of any man who might
feel disposed to give them to another. But her pride is for a time
swamped in her weakness; and the hitherto haughty and unsuspectible Miss
Gwynne is no better than the most sentimental of school girls.
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