I looked at the other portrait critically . It was that of a young man of about twenty-five ; he was undeniably handsome , but there was something I did not like in his face and I said so . Aunt Winnifred made no reply -- she was taking out the remaining contents of the box . There was a white silk fan with delicately carved ivory sticks , a packet of old letters and a folded paper containing some dried and crumpled flowers . Aunt laid the box aside and unpacked the chest in silence . First came a ball dress of pale-yellow satin brocade , made with the trained skirt , `` baby '' waist and full puffed sleeves of a former generation . Beneath it was a case containing a necklace of small but perfect pearls and a pair of tiny satin slippers . The rest of the compartment was filled with household linen , fine and costly but yellowed with age -- damask table linen and webs of the uncut fabric . In the second compartment lay a dress . Aunt Winnifred lifted it out reverently . It was a gown of rich silk that had once been white , but now , like the linen , it was yellow with age . It was simply made and trimmed with cobwebby old lace . Wrapped around it was a long white bridal veil , redolent with some strange , old-time perfume that had kept its sweetness all through the years . `` Well , Amy , this is all , '' said Aunt Winnifred with a quiver in her voice . `` And now for the story . Where shall I begin ? '' `` At the very beginning , Aunty . You see I know nothing at all except her name . Tell me who she was and why she put her wedding dress away here . '' `` Poor Eliza ! ''
said XXXXX dreamily .
Aunt box dress face gown man nothing pair pearls something