"It's July," said the Philosopher thoughtfully. He looked down at his
white ducks. "Couldn't you wire her not to come?" he suggested after
a moment.

The Skeptic grinned at me. I shook my head. He shook his head.

"We don't want her not to come," he said, more cheerfully. "She's worth
it. To see her is a liberal education. To clothe her would be ruin and
desolation. Brace up, Philo--she's certainly worth all the agony of mind
she may cause you. I only refrain from falling head over ears in love
with her by keeping my hand in my pocket, feeling over my loose change
and reminding myself that it's all I have--and it wouldn't buy her a
handkerchief."

The Gay Lady spent the morning freshening her frocks--which were
somehow never anything but fresh, no matter how much she wore them. It
was true that there were not very many of them, and that none of them
had cost very much money, but they were fascinating frocks nevertheless,
and she had so many clever ways of varying them with knots of ribbon and
frills of lace, that one never grew tired of seeing her wear them.

The Skeptic sent several pairs of trousers to be pressed and a bundle of
other things to be laundered. I got out a gown I had expected to wear
only on state occasions, and did something to the sleeves. The
Philosopher was the only person who remained unaffected by the news that
Camellia was coming. We envied him his calm.

* * * * *

Camellia arrived. Three trunks arrived at the same time. Camellia's