Aggravating above all else, however, was her own undisguised delight in her appearance.
"Are my flowers all right?
Is my dress tumbled?
Is the hood of my cloak in the middle of my back ?" were the questions she addressed to me every moment.

In the ante-room she took advantage of each mirror we passed.

In the lobby I caught her trying to look at her own back.

When we reached our box she pulled her chair to the very centre of it, and sat there as if she expected to be admired by the whole audience.
"My dear Josephine," I remonstrated, "sit back here, facing the stage.
You will see much better--besides, it is your proper seat, being the only lady in the box." "Ah, _mon Dieu!_ then I cannot see the house--and how pretty it is! Ever so much prettier than the Gaiete, or the Porte St.Martin!" "You can see the house by peeping behind the curtain." "As if I were ashamed to be seen! _Par exemple_!" "Nay, as you please.

I only advise you according to custom and fashion." Josephine pouted, and unwillingly conceded a couple of inches.
"I wish I had brought the little telescope you gave me last Sunday," said she, presently.