goodness, sir, to show me the handsomest
pocket-handkerchief in your shop."

I was drawn from beneath the pile and laid before the bright black eyes
of Julia, with an air of solemn dignity, by the young dealer in finery.

"That, ma'am," he said, "is the very finest and most elegant article
not only that WE have, but which is to be found in America. It was
brought out by 'our Mr. Silky,' the last voyage; HE said PARIS cannot
produce its equal."

"This IS beautiful, sir, one must admit! What is the price?"

"Why, ma'am, we OUGHT in justice to ourselves to have $120 for that
article; but, to our regular customers I believe Mr. Bobbinet has
determined to ask ONLY $100."

This sounded exceedingly liberal--to ask ONLY $100 for that for which
there was a sort of moral obligation to ask $120!--and Julia having
come out with the intent to throw away a hundred-dollar note that her
mother had given her that morning, the bargain was concluded. I was
wrapped up carefully in paper, put into Miss Monson's muff, and once
more took my departure from the empire of Col. Silky. I no longer
occupied a false position.

"Now, I hope you are happy, Julia," quietly observed Mary Warren, as
the two girls took their seats side by side in Mrs. Monson's chariot.
"The surprise to me is, that you forgot to purchase this ne plus ultra
of elegance while in Paris last summer."

{chariot = a light, four-wheeled carriage with only back seats; ne plus
ultra = peak, ultimate}

"My father said he could not afford it; we spent a great deal of money,
as you may suppose, in running about, seeing sights, and laying in
curiosities, and when I hinted the matter to my mother, she said we
must wait until another half year's rents had come round. After all,
Mary, there is ONE person at home to whom I shall be ashamed to show
this purchase."

"At home!--is there, indeed? Had you merely said 'in town' I could have
understood you. Your father and mother approving of what you have done,
I do not see who there is AT HOME to alarm you."

Julia blushed when her friend said "in town," and her conscious
feelings immediately conjured up the image of a certain Betts Shoreham,
as the person in her companion's mind's eye. I detected it all easily
enough, being actually within six inches of her throbbing heart at that
very moment, though concealed in the muff.

"It is not what you suppose, Mary, nor WHOM you suppose," answered my
mistress; "I mean Mademoiselle Henneq