; she is such an upstart. Her bonnets and her dresses are the
talk of the town, because they are so ugly and unbecoming. But she
has a gracious and pleasant manner, and sometimes has a good deal of
attention--whenever she once gets out. People frequently say nice
things about her; but I am sure it's their duty, because she entertains
charmingly and often. She never gives any thing like a regular party,
but quiet little affairs that are acknowledged to be very elegant by
all who are so fortunate as to be invited--because people never decline
invitations to her house. She is the only girl that I am afraid may
finally win Robert Fairfield. She's passionately, foolishly in love with
him! Why, I saw him give her a red rose-bud at our last Monday-night
German, off in the corner--he didn't know I was looking--and didn't I
see her wear that same red bud, then a withered rose, to Mrs. Babbington
Brooks' the following Thursday evening? She wore the shriveled thing on
her left shoulder, nestled down in a lover's knot of pale-blue ribbon.
But I made myself so agreeable and altogether lovely that dear Robert
F. did not go near her the entire evening; only gave her, from across
the room, by my side, the _bow of compensation_. He left that rose,
thanks to me and my successful efforts, to languish unnoticed in its
lover's knot of pale blue. Ah, Kate Meadows, that time your lover's
knot was made in vain!

The "Earnest Workers," a society of our church, for ladies only, meets
this afternoon at four, and it's nearly that time now; so I must put on
what I call my "charity dress and poverty hat." It's such a good thing
to dress plain and religious-like now and then, just for a change,
especially when it's becoming. I will carry my little work-basket and
wear, as I go down the street, a quiet, sober smile, and cultivate a
pious air--a trifle pious anyhow. And if I chance to meet Mr. Fairfield
he will, of course, join me, and wonder as we walk how one so worldly
can be, at times, so charitably inclined and so full of such good works
and holy thoughts. I sometimes wish I was good. But it's so stupid to be
good, and the men don't like you half as well. And I am very willing to
acknowledge it, I like the admiration of men. I don't know any "balm in
Gilead" so sweet and altogether acceptable.

But see! Down the street, right beneath my room-window, comes
_that_ Kate Meadows; and Robert Fairfield's with her! He holds her
prayer-book in his hand!