. The confessions of a frivolous girl. A story of fashioable life . I. MY FIRST BALL. TPHE carriage has been at the door twenty-*- minutes, Alice. Are you never coming?It was dear Papas voice reverberating up fromthe regions below; and I, a timid debutante, on theeve of my first ball, surrounded by Mamma, twoof my aunts, and three female attendants, was stand-ing before my mirror, giving the finishing touchesto a toilette, the duration of which had severelytaxed my patience. My hand, trembling with ex-citement, gave one final pat to the delicate curveof water-waves that fringed my brow, — clas
. The confessions of a frivolous girl. A story of fashioable life . I. MY FIRST BALL. TPHE carriage has been at the door twenty-*- minutes, Alice. Are you never coming?It was dear Papas voice reverberating up fromthe regions below; and I, a timid debutante, on theeve of my first ball, surrounded by Mamma, twoof my aunts, and three female attendants, was stand-ing before my mirror, giving the finishing touchesto a toilette, the duration of which had severelytaxed my patience. My hand, trembling with ex-citement, gave one final pat to the delicate curveof water-waves that fringed my brow, — classic, Ibelieve; at least, I have been told so, — and mymaid approached to lay over my bare arms andshoulders the conventional fleecy cloak. My dresswas from Paris, — a simple white tulle, the overskirttrimmed with artificial flowers. A single red rosein my dark brown hair; that was all. 6 THE CONFESSIONS OF A FRIVOLOUS GIRL. ^ Alice! Yes, Papa, in one minute. Mamma, who was herself already dressed,scanned me with a critical eye from head to foot,gave a particonfessionsoffri00gran
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