Evelyn's fancy ball was a magnificent affair, and a complete success, as
the word goes. She chose to call it my _debut_ party, but I never felt
that it was so, or that I was more than any other guest. I would not
have chosen a fancy dress for my first appearance, and she certainly was
the queen of the occasion.
She was dressed as Aurora, in exquisite, fleecy gauze draperies of
white, azure, and rose color, so artistically arranged as irresistibly
to remind the observer of those delicate, transparent tints of morning
that greet the rising sun. On her brow was a diadem of opals and
diamonds arranged in a crescent form, from beneath which, her fleecy
white veil flowed backward to the hem of her garments like a mist of the
early day-spring; a rosy exhalation of the dawn enveloping but not
obscuring the radiance of her raiment, over which dew-drops seemed to
have been shed by the lavish hand of wakening Nature.
Her face, so fair as to gain from this marble-like radiance its chief
characteristic, was delicately tinted to-night on either cheek so as to
emulate the early blushes of Aurora. Her colorless hair, of a tint so
neutral as to defy description, curling in light spiral ringlets so as
to drop profusely on her bosom, had been richly powdered with gold-dust
for this occasion, and glistened like the sunlight, or, to fall in my
comparison, the tresses of Lucretia Borgia, as her historians portray
them.
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