An imperious order brought to his private room every silk, satin, and gauze within the range of pale pink, pale crocus, pale green, silver and azure.

Then came chromatic scales of colour; combinations meant to vulgarise the rainbow; sinfonies and fugues; the twittering of birds and the great peace of dewy nature; maidenhood in her awakening innocence; "The Dawn in June." The Master rested content.
A week later came an order from Sybil, including "an entirely original ball-dress,--unlike any other sent to America." Mr.Worth pondered, hesitated; recalled Sybil's figure; the original pose of her head; glanced anxiously at the map, and speculated whether the New York Herald had a special correspondent at Dahomey; and at last, with a generosity peculiar to great souls, he duplicated for "Miss S.Ross, New York, U.S.
America," the order for "L'Aube, Mois de Juin." The Schneidekoupons and Mr.French, who had reappeared in Washington, came to dine with Mrs.Lee on the evening of the ball, and Julia Schneidekoupon sought in vain to discover what Sybil was going to wear.
"Be happy, my dear, in your ignorance!" said Sybil; "the pangs of envy will rankle soon enough." An hour later her room, except the fireplace, where a wood fire was gently smouldering, became an altar of sacrifice to the Deity of Dawn in June.

Her bed, her low couch, her little tables, her chintz arm-chairs, were covered with portions of the divinity, down to slippers and handkerchief, gloves and bunches of fresh roses.

When at length, after a long effort, the work was complete, Mrs.Lee took a last critical look at the result, and enjoyed a glow of satisfaction.

Young, happy, sparkling with consciousness of youth and beauty, Sybil stood, Hebe Anadyomene, rising from the foam of soft creplisse which swept back beneath the long train of pale, tender, pink silk, fainting into breadths of delicate primrose, relieved here and there by facings of June green--or was it the blue of early morning ?--or both?
suggesting unutterable freshness.