“Yes, mum.”

“Did she wear her new bonnet?”

“Yes, mum.”

“It was exactly like this?”

“Oh, no, mum, it was exactly like the new one you had sent home this morning.”

“What!” The face of the lady flushed instantly.  “Wasn’t it like this?”

“No, mum.”

Mrs. Ballman sunk into a chair.

“You can retire, Kitty,” she said, and the girl withdrew, leaving her to her own feelings and reflections, which were not of the most pleasing character.

The appearance of Kitty at church, fully explained to Mrs. Claudine the ungenerous game that had been played against her.  Her first thought was to retaliate.  But reflection brought other and better feelings into play.  Instead of exposing what had been done, she destroyed the bonnet received from New York, and made an effort to keep what had occurred a secret.  But Kitty’s appearance at church in such an elegant affair, naturally created some talk.  One surmise after another was started, and, at last, from hints dropped by the milliner, and admissions almost extorted from Mrs. Claudine, the truth came out so fully, that all understood it; nor was Mrs. Ballman long left in ignorance on this head.

As to the fashion, Mrs. Claudine’s bonnet became the rage; though, as might be supposed, Mrs. Ballman refused to adopt it.

Who will be the successful rival next season, I am unable to predict.  But it is believed that Mrs. Claudine intends giving Mrs. Ballman an advance of two weeks, and then coming in with a different style, and beating her in spite of the advantage.

CHAPTER XXVII.

MY WASHERWOMAN.

WE were sitting at tea one evening—­Mr. Smith, my sister and her husband, Mr. John Jones, and myself.  In the midst of a pleasant conversation, Bridget looked into the dining-room.

“What is wanted?” said I.

“Mary Green is down stairs.”

“Oh! the washerwoman.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Well, what does she want?”

I knew what she wanted well enough.  She had come for two dollars that I owed her.  I felt annoyed.  “Why?” the reader asks.  “Obligations of this kind should always be met promptly and cheerfully.”

True; and I am of those who never grudge the humble poor the reward of their labor.  But, it so happened that I had received a pretty liberal supply of money from my husband on this very day, all of which I had spent in shopping.  Some of my purchases could not be classed exactly under the head, “Articles of Domestic Economy,” and I was, already, in rather a repentant mood—­the warmth of admiration at the sight of sundry ornamental trifles having subsided almost as soon as I found myself their owner.  To my question, Bridget very promptly answered,

“She’s come for her money.”

When a woman feels annoyed, she is rarely able to repress its exhibition.  Men are cooler, and have a quicker self control.  They make better hypocrites.