"Oh, it is too useful, not to have a straight-forward, common name; you may call it a sac, though, if you like. I could not think of anything more imaginative; can you, Jane?"
"I dare say, there is another name; but I have forgotten it; everything has a name of its own, in Paris."
"Your table looks like a fancy-shop, Aunt Agnes," continued Hazlehurst; "gloves, bags, purses, boxes, muslins, portfolios, and twenty other things, jumbled together."
"What sort of wood is the work-box that you chose for Miss Patsey?" asked Elinor. "I am very glad you thought of her."
"Harry does not seem to have forgotten any of his friends, while in Paris," said Miss Agnes.
Hazlehurst looked down.
"It is some dark wood; not rose-wood, however. It is rather plain; but a serviceable-looking box," he said.
"Just the thing for Miss Patsey," observed Elinor.
"Here, Elinor," said Jane, "is the cape I spoke of;" and she unfolded a paper, and drew from it a piece of muslin which had evidently received a very pretty shape, fine embroidery, and tasteful bows of riband from some Parisian hand. "This is the one I spoke of.--Is it not much prettier than any you have seen?"
Elinor received the cape from her cousin, who was unusually animated in its praises; it was held up to the light; then laid on the table; the delicacy of the work was admired; then the form, and the ribands; and, at last, Elinor threw it over Jane's shoulders, observing, at the same time, that it was particularly becoming to her. Harry seemed determined not to look; and, in order to resist any inclination he may have felt, to do so, he resolutely took up a Review, and began turning over its pages.
The young ladies' admiration of the cape lasted several minutes, and, at length, Elinor called upon the rest of the party to admire how becoming it was.
"Well, really," exclaimed Harry, looking rather cross, probably at being disturbed in his reading, "young ladies' love of finery seems quite inexhaustible; it is sometimes incomprehensible to the duller perceptions of the male ***."
"Don't be saucy!" said Elinor.
"Why, you can't deny the fact, that you and Jane have been doing nothing else, all the morning, but tumble over this Paris finery?"
"I beg your pardon--we have been talking quite sensibly, too; have we not, Aunt Agnes?"
"Much as usual, I believe, my dear," replied Miss Wyllys.
"Pray observe, that the table contains something besides finery; here are some very good French and Italian books; but, I suppose, Jane will say, those you selected yourself."
"I certainly did," said Harry; "and the music, too."
"Well, I have half a mind not to tell you, that we like the books and the music quite as well as anything here," said Elinor, colouring; and then, as if almost fearing that she had betrayed her feelings, she continued, in a gay tone. "But, why are you so severe upon us this morning?"
"Unpalatable truth, I suppose," said Harry, shrugging his shoulders.
"Pray, remember, sir, that if finery be thrown away upon the noble ***, at the present day, it was not always so. Let me refer you to certain kings, who, not content with studying their own dresses, have condescended to compose those of their queens, too.
Remember how many great heroes--your Turennes and Marlboroughs--have appeared in diamonds and satin, velvet and feathers!"
{"Turenne" = Henri de la Tour d'Auvergne, Vicomte de Turenne (1611-1675), a famous French military commander; "Marlborough" =
John Churchill Marlborough, Duke of Marlborough (1650-1722), a famous British military commander}
"But that was two hundred years ago."
"They were heroes, nevertheless; and, I suppose, une fois caporal, toujours caporal. But, if you prefer something nearer to our own time, figure to yourself Horace Walpole, and General Conway, some half-century since, consulting, in their correspondence, upon the particular shade of satin best suited to their complexions--whether pea-green, or white, were the most favourable."
{"une foi caporal...." = once a corporal, always a corporal (French); "Walpole" = Horace Walpole (1717-1797), English author; "Conway" = General Henry Conway (1721-1795), English general and politician}
Hazlehurst laughed.
"There it is, in white and black!" said Elinor. "Just remember Goldsmith, strutting about Temple Gardens, in his blush-coloured satin, and fancying everybody in love with him, too!"
{"Goldsmith" = Oliver Goldsmith (1730-1775), British author; "Temple Gardens" = in London on the Thames River, next to The Temple (an ancient English school of law)}
"Quarter! quarter! Nelly," cried her grandfather, laughing.
"True, I must confess," said Harry, smiling; "but that was more than fifty years ago. The world has grown wiser, now."
"Has it?"
"Look at our sober coats, to-day--the last Paris fashions, too!"
"Yes--but what is the reason?" cried Elinor, laughing herself.
"You have just found out that finery, and a showy exterior, are of no use to you--they do not increase your influence with the ladies! We do not value a man more for a showy exterior!"
"I submit," said Harry; but he coloured, and seemed to Miss Agnes, more embarrassed by Elinor's remark than was necessary. He threw down his book, however, and crossed the room to take a place near her.
"What are you going to do this morning?" he said, quietly.
A walk was proposed, and soon after the young people, accompanied by Bruno, set out together.
