it."

Octavia glanced down also.

"Oh, no!" she replied: "it will do well enough. I will throw a scarf over
my head, though; not because I need it," unblushingly, "but because I
have a lace one that is very becoming."

She went up to her room for the article in question, and in three minutes
was down again. When she first caught sight of her, Miss Belinda found
herself obliged to clear her throat quite suddenly. What Slowbridge would
think of seeing such a toilet in her front garden, upon an ordinary
occasion, she could not imagine. The scarf truly was becoming. It was a
long affair of rich white lace, and was thrown over the girl's head,
wound around her throat, and the ends tossed over her shoulders, with the
most picturesque air of carelessness in the world.

"You look quite like a bride, my dear Octavia," said Miss Belinda. "We
are scarcely used to such things in Slowbridge."

But Octavia only laughed a little.

"I am going to get some pink roses, and fasten the ends with them, when
we get into the garden," she said.

She stopped for this purpose at the first rose-bush they reached. She
gathered half a dozen slender-stemmed, heavy-headed buds, and, having
fastened the lace with some, was carelessly placing the rest at her
waist, when Miss Belinda started violently.