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!  How earnestly they are talking!  I wonder what it’s about?  What a tender look on his face turned full toward her downcast eyes!  O, the hypocrite!  They are both hypocrites; we are all hypocrites!  On their way to that horrid afternoon Lenten service!  It’s a whole square out of the way to come by this house!  She did it on purpose; I know it, I know it!  She just wanted me to see her with him!  She’s the meanest girl in this town!  I always disliked her, and now I fairly despise the very ground she walks on—­when she’s walking it with him!  She’s coming to spend all of Tuesday morning with me; won’t I be gracious though!  I’ll kiss her three or four times, instead of the regulation-twice!  I can be hypocritical, and sauve too!  I don’t wish I was good!  I don’t ever want to be good!  They have turned the corner!  They are out of sight!  I just won’t go one step to the “Earnest Workers!” It’s all nonsense, any how!  Just sewing, and gossiping, and talking about the minister and his wife, and all the rest of the congregation who are not there!  No, no, NO!  I’ll just stay right here at home, and I’ll have—­yes, I will—­I’ll have a real good cry.