An amused smile curled her lips at the expression, “if you have a nice dress,” and when the door closed after Mrs. Coolidge, she laughed outright. Evidently she thought if the governess had seen better days, they could not have been very remarkable ones. She crossed the room, and opened the trunk in which she had packed the richer portion of her clothing, and took out her evening dresses. The decision was a difficult matter, and it was more than an hour before she could make up her mind which one of those beautiful garments it would do to wear. She had no desire to outshine Miss Isabel. But that young lady, with all her love for show and fashion, had nothing more elegant than Brownie’s own wardrobe contained. She at length fixed upon a delicate maize-colored silk, trimmed with puffings of soft illusion, and ruffles of fine thread lace. When the hour came for dressing, she arrayed herself with a throbbing heart. She had nearly completed her toilet, when Viola came sweeping in, lovely in blue silk and white tulle. In her hands she carried a most exquisite bouquet of flowers. She stood breathless on the threshold as she caught sight of Brownie. “Miss Douglas,” she at length exclaimed, “how perfectly lovely you are!” “Thank you, Viola; but you are altogether too enthusiastic in your compliments,” Brownie returned, with a smile. Yet as she glanced into the mirror, she grew suddenly conscious, and blushed with a sense of her own beauty. Her hair was drawn away from her broad, low forehead, and knotted gracefully at the back of her small head. Her beautiful neck gleamed through the misty fichu, and her rounded arms were only half concealed by the fall of delicate lace from her sleeves. She wore a finely wrought chain of gold about her neck, from which was suspended the beautiful coral cross, set with brilliants, which her aunt had given her at the same time she gave her the other contents of the casket. The butterfly hair ornament to match she had fastened in her glossy hair, and it sparkled and gleamed with her every movement. She surely was lovely, as Viola said: “I’m afraid your mamma will think me too fine,” she said, half regretfully, and struck by the young girl’s words. “But,” she added, “this is the simplest thing I have, unless I wear white, and your mamma said Alma was to dress in white.” “Miss Douglas, who—what are you?” Viola asked, an expression of perplexity on her young face. “My dear, must I repeat my dreadful name? I am Mehetabel Douglas, and a poor governess,” Brownie said, gayly. “I know that, of course; but haven’t you been a fine lady at some time in your life?” demanded the young girl, impatiently. “That depends altogether upon what you mean by the term ‘fine lady,’ Viola.” “Why, one who has everything rich and elegant, and who goes among fashionable people.” Brownie smiled at this definition of the term, but she replied, gravely, and a little sadly: