She stood with one hand resting on the open drawer of her bureau, and in the other the two soft bits of ribbon, that held the faint fragrance of rose leaves which clung to all her possessions.

Miss Ruth would never have confessed it, but she was thinking that Mr.Forsythe was a very genteel young man, and she wished she knew which ribbon would be more becoming.
"Ruth!" said Miss Deborah, in majestic disapproval.
The younger sister gave a little jump of fright, and dropped the ribbons hastily, as though she feared Miss Deborah had detected her thoughts.
"I--I'll be ready directly, sister." "I hope so, indeed," said Miss Deborah severely, and moved with deliberate dignity from the room, while Miss Ruth, much fluttered, took her dress from the high bedstead, which had four cherry-wood posts, carved in alternate balloons and disks, and a striped dimity valance.
She still realized the importance of the right ribbon, and the responsibility of choice oppressed her; but it was too late for any further thought.

She shut her eyes tight, and, with a trembling little hand, picked up the first one she touched.

Satisfied, since Fate so decided it, that gray was the right color, she pinned it at her throat with an old brooch of chased and twisted gold, and gave a last glance at her swinging glass before joining her sister in the parlor.

The excitement had brought a faint flush into her soft cheek, and her eyes were bright, and the gray ribbon had a pretty gleam in it.