"Everything! material, fashion, cut, and age!"
"Never you mind!" he says, looking at my face, not my gown "People will look at you, not your dress!"
"Not they!" I say, shaking my head. "Women look at your dress first, and your face after; men look first at a woman's general turn out; they would rather be seen with an ugly but perfectly appointed woman, than ever such a pretty one in a bonnet out of date and ill gloved and booted."
"I should prefer the pretty woman with the out-of-date bonnet," says George; "but surely you can have everything you require for a visit?"
"I ought, but ought is an ill-used word that never gets its rights. Papa's daughters are never supposed to require anything so superfluous as clothes."
"If you would only marry me, you should have a new silk dress for every day in the year," says the young man, with masculine ignorance of the number of yards every well-brought-up young woman considers it necessary to cram into a skirt.
"You would not have me marry you for the sake of silk dresses, would you?" I ask reproachfully, feeling somewhat allured, nevertheless, at the notion of trailing about in black, white, green, blue, lilac, cream colour, or pink attire every day. I could not enjoy them all, though; and perhaps, after a bit, I should even get as used to them as I am to my cotton ones; and it would be no pleasure to choose a new one. Heigho!" I sigh; "well, there is one comfort, I shall not have any of the women abusing me for my smart toilettes; a woman will forgive another one for being better looking than herself—that is Nature's fault, not her own—but she will never forgive her for being better dressed."
"That is true," says George, "and I believe that numbers of people do not dare to be stylish, or they would lose all their friends. There is to some folks a species of immorality in a per-
