great metropolis either by Mrs.
Grundy or the County Councils; therefore "holding up" becomes a very
delicate performance.

Though we do not dress only to please the men, I always prefer their
criticisms on a costume to those of my own sex. You can never tell if
the latter speak the truth. They may be jealous, and run it down from
spite; they may want to gain something from you, and so call yours "a
perfection of a gown, and suits you admirably, my dear!" disliking it
exceedingly in their inmost hearts.

But a man never gives his approbation unless he really means what he
says, and he is not difficult to please as a rule. So long as the
costume is neat and well-fitting, he does not care about anything
else. It is the _tout ensemble_ he thinks of, not the thousand and one
details that go to make up the whole.

I wonder why so many men dislike large hats! It is a pity, for they
are so very becoming to some faces, and give a picturesque effect
altogether. Perhaps this last is a reason for their disapproval. They
never like their womankind to attract attention.

The most unpardonable sin one woman can commit against another, is to
copy her clothes and bring the style out as her own idea. It is
intensely irritating! If she admits she has copied or asks your leave
beforehand, it is a different matter. You are even gratified then,
for "imitation is the sincerest flattery." But to have your ideas
stolen and brought out in such a way as to convey the impression that
you are the imitator, to say the least, arouses murderous intentions
in your heart!

There are times, too, when you receive a shock to your vanity; times
when you are quite satisfied with your appearance, and find to your
dismay that everyone is not of the same opinion.

I remember once when I was dining out and feeling very pleased with my
_tout ensemble_, I was disillusioned in a way that not only upset my
self-confidence, but my gravity at the same time. To heighten the
general effect, I had stuck a patch near my mouth. (Oh, the minds of
the last century! From whose fertile brain did it emanate, I wonder,
the fact that a piece of black plaster on the face, should be so
eminently becoming!) Imagine my horror when the maid, an old servant I
knew very well, took me aside and whispered confidentially, "Oh, Miss!
you've got _such_ a big smut on your chin!"

Clothes are altogether a great nuisance, I think. How tired you get of
the regular routine of the morni