her into our pew; people will stare so. She is a perfect fright. The idea
of a girl making herself look like that!"

Mrs. Ketchum, however, declined to interfere, and when Bijou got back to
the drawing-room Ethel was missing. Taking advantage of Bijou's absence,
she had gone up-stairs, and, during the library interview, was saying to
her aunt, "You never saw anything got up as she is,--silk, and satin, and
lace, and bracelets, and feathers, and what not. And for church, too! I
wonder she should turn out like that: she should have better taste. I
really don't quite like going with her, she looks so conspicuous,--just as
if she were going to a garden-party or flower-show, for all the world."
When they met again, both girls looked a little conscious, and Ethel said,
"How very smart you are!"

"Why, this is an old dress that I put on for fear it might rain," said
Bijou. "Don't you hate having to wear goggles and cages and things? It
must be perfectly horrid."

"I don't mind. Of course one isn't looking one's best; but that is of no
consequence. Health is the first consideration," said Ethel. "Ah! there
comes your father."

Of the walk it need only be said that it was very pleasant going, and
rained a little coming back; that Ethel produced her "goloshes," put up
her umbrella, and walked home as serenely as her concern for Bijou would
admit. That young lady had on paper-soled boots that got soaking wet, a
fine summer parasol that she seemed to think fulfilled every office that
was desirable in shielding her bonnet, a dress ill fitted to resist chill
or dampness. She persisted that she was "all right," while her pretty
teeth chattered; but she caught a violent cold, and was in bed a week,