CHAPTER I.

akingtinyside-plansonamargin. Celiacolored,andlookedverygrave.“Ithink,dear,wearewantinginrespecttomamma’smemory,toputthembyandtakenonoticeofthem.And,”sheadded,afterhesitatingalittle,witharisingsobofmortification,“necklacesarequiteusualnowandMadamePoincon,whowasstricterinsomethingseventhanyouare,usedtowearornaments.AndChristiansgenerally—surelytherearewomeninheavennowwhoworejewels.”Celiawasconsciousofsomementalstrengthwhenshereallyappliedherselftoargument. “Youwouldliketowearthem?”exclaimedDorothea,anairofastonisheddiscoveryanimatingherwholepersonwithadramaticactionwhichshehadcaughtfromthatveryMadamePoinconwhoworetheornaments.“Ofcourse,then,letushavethemout.Whydidyounottellmebefore?Butthekeys,thekeys!”Shepressedherhandsagainstthesidesofherheadandseemedtodespairofhermemory. “Theyarehere,”saidCelia,withwhomthisexplanationhadbeenlongmeditatedandprearranged. “Prayopenthelargedrawerofthecabinetandgetoutthejewel-box.” Thecasketwassoonopenbeforethem,andthevariousjewelsspreadout,makingabrightparterreonthetable.Itwasnogreatcollection,butafewoftheornamentswerereallyofremarkablebeauty,thefinestthatwasobviousatfirstbeinganecklaceofpurpleamethystssetinexquisitegoldwork,andapearlcrosswithfivebrilliantsinit.Dorotheaimmediatelytookupthenecklaceandfasteneditroundhersister’sneck,whereitfittedalmostascloselyasabraceletbutthecirclesuitedtheHenrietta-MariastyleofCelia’sheadandneck,andshecouldseethatitdid,inthepier-glassopposite. “There,Celia!youcanwearthatwithyourIndianmuslin.Butthiscrossyoumustwearwithyourdarkdresses.” Celiawastryingnottosmilewithpleasure.“ODodo,youmustkeepthecrossyourself.” “No,no,dear,no,”saidDorothea,puttingupherhandwithcarelessdeprecation. “Yes,indeedyoumustitwouldsuityou—inyourblackdress,now,”saidCelia,insistingly.“Youmightwearthat.” “Notfortheworld,notfortheworld.AcrossisthelastthingIwouldwearasatrinket.”Dorotheashudderedslightly. “Thenyouwillthinkitwickedinmetowearit,”saidCelia,uneasily. “No,dear,no,”saidDorothea,strokinghersister’scheek.“Soulshavecomplexionstoo:whatwillsuitonewillnotsuitanother.” “Butyoumightliketokeepitformamma’ssake.” “No,Ihaveotherthingsofmamma’s—hersandal-woodboxwhichIamsofondof—plentyofthings.Infact,theyareallyours,dear.Weneeddiscussthemnolonger.There—takeawayyourproperty.” Celiafeltalittlehurt.TherewasastrongassumptionofsuperiorityinthisPuritanictoleration,hardlylesstryingtotheblondfleshofanunenthusiasticsisterthanaPuritanicpersecution. “ButhowcanIwearornamentsifyou,whoaretheeldersister,willneverwearthem?” “Nay,Celia,thatistoomuchtoask,thatIshouldweartrinketstokeepyouincountenance.IfIweretoputonsuchanecklaceasthat,IshouldfeelasifIhadbeenpirouetting.Theworldwouldgoroundwithme,andIshouldnotknowhowtowalk.” Celiahadunclaspedthenecklaceanddrawnitoff.“Itwouldbealittletightforyournecksomethingtoliedownandhangwouldsuityoubetter,”shesaid,withsomesatisfaction.ThecompleteunfitnessofthenecklacefromallpointsofviewforDorothea,madeCeliahappierintakingit.Shewasopeningsomering-boxes,whichdisclosedafineemeraldwithdiamonds,andjustthenthesunpassingbeyondacloudsentabrightgleamoverthetable. “Howverybeautifulthesegemsare!”saidDorothea,un