Family Pride

Helen could not answer, but turned away to hide her face, while Katy showed to her lover one dress after another, until she came to the little plaid, which, with a bright blush she told him "was the very thing itself--the one intended for to-morrow, and asked if he did not like it."

Wilford could not help telling her yes, for he knew she wished him to do so, but in his heart he was thinking bad thoughts against the wardrobe of his bride-elect--thoughts which would have won for him the title of hen-huzzy from Helen, could she have known them. And yet Wilford did not deserve that name. Accustomed all his life to hearing dress discussed in his mother's parlor, and in his sister's boudoir, it was natural he should think more of it and notice it more than Morris Grant would do, while for the last five weeks he had heard at home of little else than the probably _tout ensemble_ of Katy's wardrobe, bought and made in the country, his mother deciding finally to write to her cousin, Mrs. Harvey, who boarded at the Revere, and have her see it before Katy left the city. Under these circumstances, it was not strange that Wilford did not enter into Katy's delight, even after she told him how Helen had made every stitch of the dress herself, and that it would on that account be very dear to her. This was a favorable time for getting the poplin off his mind, and with a premonitory ahem, he said: "Yes, it is very nice, no doubt; but," and here he turned to Helen, "after Mrs. Ryan's services were declined, my mother determined to have two dresses fitted to Sister Bell, who I think is just Katy's size and figure. I need not say"--and his eyes still rested on Helen, who gave him back an unflinching glance--"I need not say that no pains have been spared to make these garments everything they should be in point of quality and style. I have them in my trunk," and, tuning now to Katy, "it is my mother's special request that one of them be worn to-morrow. You could take your choice, she said--either was suitable. I will bring them for your inspection."

He left the room, while Helen's face resembled a dark thundercloud, whose lightnings shone in her flashing eyes as she looked after him and then back to where Katy stood, bewildered and wondering what was wrong.

"Who is Mrs. Ryan?" she asked. "What does he mean?" but before Helen could command her voice to explain, Wilford was with them again, bringing the dresses, over which Katy nearly went wild.