"Ah!" said she, "good morning. Why bless me! you've got that pretty
hat I saw at Lawson's. Well, now, it's really quite pretty; Lawson has
some taste left yet; what a lovely sermon the Doctor gave us. By the
by, did you know that Mrs. Gnu had actually bought the blue velvet?
It's too bad, because I wanted to cover my prayer-book with blue, and
she sits so near, the effect of my book will be quite spoiled. Dear
me! there she is beckoning to me; good-bye, do come and see us;
Tuesdays, you know. Well, Lawson really does very well."

I was so mad with the old thing, that I could not help catching her by
her mantle and holding on while I whispered loud enough for everybody
to hear:

"Mrs. Croesus, you see I have just got my bonnet from Paris. It's made
after the Empress's. If you would like to have yours made over in the
fashion, dear Mrs. Croesus, I shall be so glad to lend you mine."

"No, thank you, dear," said she, "Lawson won't do for me. Bye-bye."

And so she slipped out, and, I've no doubt, told Mrs. Gnu that she had
seen my bonnet at Lawson's. Isn't it too bad? Then she is so
abominably cool. Somehow, when I am talking with Mrs. Croesus, who
has all her own things made at home, I don't feel as if mine came from
Paris at all. She has such a way of looking at you, that it's quite
dreadful. She seems to be saying in her mind, "La! now, well done,
little dear." And I think that kind of mental reservation (I think
that's what they call it) is an insupportable impertinence. However, I
don't care, do you?

I've so many things to tell you that I hardly know where to begin. The