I think that both Miss Lavinia and Martin Cortright dread the going back
to their old existence, and yet I am not sure that either of them would
consent to change it in any way, in spite of their growlings at the
modern conditions of life in New York. They have learned to lean upon the
very restrictions that cramp them, until the idea of cutting free seems
as impossible as for the bulky woman to sever the stay-lace that at once
suffocates and supports her.
Martin Cortright stayed to luncheon to-day. Not that it is an unusual
occurrence, but he wished to have a long afternoon to finish reading a
certain portion of his manuscript to Miss Lavinia before her flitting in
the morning.
We were seated at the table when she came in hurriedly, apologizing for
being late, saying that she had become so absorbed in finishing her
letters that she did not realize that it was even noon. I did not look at
her particularly until a few moments later, when Martin, after fussing
with his bread a good deal, looked up and said, with a charming smile,
"What a very becoming gown you have on to-day, Miss Lavinia."
"Yes," said father, "I was thinking precisely the same thing myself, so
you see that in spite of our condemning your sex for paying so much
attention to clothes, we men are the first to note the result of them."
Miss Lavinia looked puzzled. She was too much the politic woman of the
world to say that the dimity gown was the same one that she had worn for
the two or three days previous; besides, the fact would have cast a doubt
upon their judgment, and she was particular in all such little details of
good breeding; so she parried the compliment deftly, and straightway fell
to pondering as to what circumstance the remark might refer.
Pages:
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267