any of us are particularly ragged or naked. Unfortunately, the rummaging of twenty years has left it very bald and miserable indeed; and as everything of any value has been taken out long ago, I stand but a poor chance of fishing up a garment fit to go visiting in.
"There is the yellow satin," says mother, “but then you don't like yellow satin."
Especially when my great grandmother upset a dish of gravy down its front," I say, grimacing. "Would you have me like the serving-man in 'L'Avare,' who was bidden by his master to hold his hat over his clothes, that the company might not see the rents and stains?"
"And there is the plum-coloured paduasoy," says mother, unheeding my flippant interjections, "and you don't like that."
"No, I do not! If I can't have one or two moderately respectable gowns, I must stay at home."
"I don't know what your papa will say," says mother, with a sigh.
"If he only says 'Yes,'" I say, kissing her, "I'll forgive all the rest. Is that other letter from Dolly?"
"Yes, she likes it very much at Charteris, but she seems rather home-sick."
"Poor Dolly!" I say, "I wish she were back again. I do miss her so. Mother, mother, why did you not have more girls?"
"Nell," says the Bull of Basan, rushing in, "the governor says you're to go down directly; the Tempests are in the garden."
"Bother!" I say, crossly; for would I not a hundred times rather be up here talking of new gowns with mother, than trotting round the hot garden and fields with George, talking of love? I know those little morning walks round the estate well enough; and as to the Mummy's being an invalid, I don't believe a word of it; his legs are made of cast iron. I follow my sturdy young
