The delicate
pointed handwriting, the tiny seal of gilded wax, the faint perfume
which the missive exhaled, all said to her at once, "Madge Everton."
With a feeling which, if not quite reluctance, was still not quite
alacrity, Hildegarde broke the pretty seal, with its Cupid holding a
rose to his lips, and read as follows:--
SARATOGA, July 20.
MY DEAREST, SWEETEST HILDA,--Can it be possible
that you have been away a whole month, and that I have not
written to you? I am awfully ashamed! but I have been so
TOO busy, it has been out of the question. Papa
decided quite _suddenly_ to come here instead of going to
Long Branch; and you can imagine the _frantic_ amount of
work Mamma and I had to get ready. One has to dress so
_much_ at Saratoga, you know; and we cannot just send an
order to _Paris_, as _you_ do, my dear Queen, for all we
want, but have to _scratch round_ (I know you don't allow
your subjects to use slang, but we DO scratch
round, and nothing else can express it), and get things made
here. I have a _lovely_ pale blue Henrietta-cloth, made like
that rose-colored gown of yours that I admire so much, and
that you SAID I might copy. Mamma says it was
_awfully_ good of you, and that _she_ wouldn't let any one
copy _her_ French dresses if she had them; but I told her
you _were_ awfully good, and that was why. Well, then I have
a white nun's-veiling, made with triple box-plaits, and a
_lovely_ pointed overskirt, copied from a Donovan dress of
Mamma's; and a dark-red surah, and oh! a perfect
"frou-frou" of wash-dresses, of course; two _sweet_ white
lawns, one trimmed with valenciennes (I _hate_ valenciennes,
you know, but Mamma _will_ make me have it, because she
thinks it is _jeune fille_!), and one with the new Russian
lace; and a pink sateen, and two or three light chambrays.
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