And then we'll discuss the dresses.

Dear me! I long to get to work upon them." As a matter of fact, Cornelia had very few particulars to tell: all she knew was the simple fact she had already stated.

But it needed only a small spark to enkindle her imagination; she plunged at once into a perfect flower-garden of bright thoughts and rainbow fancies; foreshadowed her whole journey from the arrival in New York to the latest grand ball and conquest; glowed over the horses, the houses, and the people; speculated profoundly in possible romances and romantic possibilities, and became so eloquent in a pretty, half-childish, half-womanish way she had, that Sophie's eyes shone, and she told herself that Neelie was the dearest, cunningest sister in the world.
From these glorious imaginings they descended--or ascended, perhaps--to the dresses, and then Sophie's low, steady voice mingled with Cornelia's rich, strenuous one, like pure water with red wine.

Cornelia paced the little room backward and forward--she could never keep still when she was talking about what interested her, and now paused by the window, now before the mantel-piece, now leaned for a moment on the foot-board of Sophie's bed.

She was very happy; indeed, this may have been the happiest hour of her life, past or to come.