Bressant

"Have you kept at that sewing ever since I went away?" asked she, idly

examining the work which Sophie had laid down.

"I believe so," replied Sophie, stroking her chin to a point between her

forefinger and thumb. "It's so pleasant to be able to sew again at all

that I should consider it no hardship to have to sew all day."

Cornelia's thoughts immediately reverted to the dresses which the next

two weeks must see made.

"You wouldn't be strong enough to do that, though, would you? I mean to

sew on dresses, and all that sort of thing?"

"Dresses?" said Sophie, looking up inquiringly into her sister's face.

"Oh, you mean your dress for Abbie's Fourth-of-July party? I thought you

were going to wear your--"

"Oh, no, not that; I wasn't thinking of that," interrupted Miss Valeyon,

with a gesture as if deprecating the idea of having ever entertained

ideas so lowly. "I shall hardly be in town on the Fourth," she added,

reflectively, as if calculating her engagements.

Sophie looked amazed, though it would have taken a keener observer than

Cornelia was at the moment to detect the slight contraction of the under

eyelids, and the barely perceptible droop of the corners of the mouth.

She saw that her sister had something of moment to tell her, and was,

for some reason, coquettish about bringing it out. Cornelia was often

entertaining to Sophie when she least had intention of being so; but

Sophie was far too tender of the young lady's feelings knowingly to let

her suspect it.

"Not be in town?" repeated she, demurely taking up her work; "why, where

are you going, dear?"

"Oh!" said Cornelia, with one of those little half-yawns wherewith we

cover our nervousness or suspense, "I didn't tell you, did I? Papa

received a letter from a lady in New York, the one who wanted us to call

her 'Aunt Margaret' when we were there ever so long ago--the year after

mamma died, you know--asking me to come to her house there, and go round

with her to Saratoga and all the fashionable watering-places. The

invitation was for about the first of July, so--"

Cornelia, speaking with a breathless rapidity which she intended for

sang froid, had got thus far, when Sophie, who had dropped her work

again, and had been regarding her with a beautiful expression of

surprise, joy, and affection in her eyes, stretched forth her arms,

cooed out a tender little cry of happy congratulation and sympathy, and

hugged her sister around the neck for a few moments in a very eloquent

silence.

"Why, Sophie!" murmured Cornelia, covered with an astonishment of

smiles and tears, "how sweet you are! I didn't think you'd care; I

thought you'd think it foolish in me to be glad, dear Sophie!"