The paper _was_ ugly, being a deep buff with a brown figure that did look very like spiders sprawling over it, and might well make one nervous to look at day after day.
Jill was asleep in the folding chair Dr.Whiting had sent, with a mattress to make it soft.

The back could be raised or lowered at will; but only a few inches had been gained as yet, and the thin hair pillow was all she could bear.

She looked very pretty as she lay, with dark lashes against the feverish cheeks, lips apart, and a cloud of curly black locks all about the face pillowed on one arm.

She seemed like a brilliant little flower in that dull place,--for the French blood in her veins gave her a color, warmth, and grace which were very charming.

Her natural love of beauty showed itself in many ways: a red ribbon had tied up her hair, a gay but faded shawl was thrown over the bed, and the gifts sent her were arranged with care upon the table by her side among her own few toys and treasures.