dresses. Her entertainments were _the_ entertainments of the season.
Nobody had yet been able to come up to her, let them try ever so much,
and people dressed accordingly.

Of course I wasn't going to be behindhand on a fashionable occasion like
that, where a certain person was sure to be an object of special
admiration and envious criticism, so I went to work at once, and turned
my pink silk wrong side out with my own hands.

Then I took an hour or so of solitary shopping, and had the things I
bought carried straight into my own room, for I had given out that I had
a sick headache, and wanted to sleep--a fib so delicate, that it seemed
almost conscientious, besides being worth forgiving on account of its
originality.

Well, I worked away like everything, determined to show the world, for
my own private enjoyment, that genius wasn't limited to writing, but
would sometimes break out in silks and laces and flowers, with
astonishing effects. So my heart rose, and my fingers flew.

That headache of mine lasted three days, without intermission. During
this season of affliction, my meals were brought up on a hotel tray, and
I took care to order them myself--the toast and tea, which cousin sent
up at first, not being quite satisfactory as a persistent diet.

At last my dress was ready. E. E. said _she_ had ordered hers from
Worth, ever so long ago, expecting that something super-elegant might
turn up, like Mrs. Sprague's party. I didn't ask who Worth was, not
thinking a masculine mantua-maker worth inquiring about; but I kept a
close mouth about my own toilet--that word needs explaining, sisters.
With us it means a half-moon table, curtained down, and ruffled over
with spotted muslin, and set under a looking-glass. But here it means
your whole dress-frock, boots, everything that you wear from top to toe.
This is why the word "toilet" comes in so naturally in my Report. But
understand, it does _not_ mean a table--quite the contrary.

You should have seen me when I came out of my room that evening. Up to
this I had been harmonious in my dress, but newness was the thing here,
so I had studied the grandly poetical harmony of contrasts. My aim had
been something poetical and striking.

My pink silk had turned beautifully. It looked good as new, if not more
so; the fresh lining hunched it out behind, till a good-sized baby could
have sat on it, as such little fellows billow themselves among the
clouds in an old picture. Cont