n, and a black one, that "father liked to
see against her yellow wig, as he called it," Mrs. Josephine proceeded
to a milliner's, where, to Laura's further astonishment, she bought
bonnets for herself, as if she had been her own doll, with an utter
disregard of proper self-depreciation, trying one after another, and
discarding them for various personal reasons, till at last she fixed on
a little gray straw, trimmed with gray ribbon and white daisies, "for
camp," she said, and another of white lace, a fabric calculated to wear
twice, perhaps, if its floating sprays of clematis did not catch in any
parasol on its first appearance. She called me to see how becoming both
the bonnets were, viewed herself in various ways in the glass, and at
last announced that she looked prettiest in the straw, but the lace was
most elegant. To this succeeded purchases of lace and shawls, that still
farther opened Laura's eyes, and made her face grave. She confided to
me privately, that, after all, I must allow Josephine was silly and
extravagant. I had just come from that little lady's room, where she sat
surrounded by the opened parcels, saying, with the gravity of a child,--

"I do like pretty things, Sue! I like them more now than I used to,
because Frank likes me. I am so glad I'm pretty!"

I don't know how it was, but I could not quite coincide with Laura's
strictures. Josey was extravagant, to be sure; she was vain; but
something so tender and feminine flavored her very faults that they
charmed me. I was not an impartial judge; and I remembered, through all,
that April night, and the calm, resolute, self-poised character that
invested the lovely, girlish face with such dignity, strength, and
simplicity. No, she was not silly; I could not grant that to Laura.

Every day we drove to the camp, and brought Frank home to dinner. Now
and then he stayed with us till the next day, and even Laura could not
wonder at his "infatuation," as she had once called it, when she saw how
thoroughly Josephine forgot herself in her utter devotion to him; over
this, Laura's eyes filled with sad forebodings.

"If anything should happen to him, Sue, it will kill her," she said.
"She never can lose him and live. Poor little thing! how could Mr. Bowen
let her marry him?"

"Mr. Bowen lets her do much as she likes, Laura, and always has, I
imagine."

"Yes, she has been a spoiled child, I know, but it is such a pity!"

"_Has_ she been spoiled? I believe, a