held his beloved in
the midst of a gunny--no, a dressing-sack. Of course, then, she didn't
have to keep house, and didn't have so many cares to tire her. Poor
little thing! Perhaps she isn't well!

Isn't she? Let another woman telephone that she has tickets for the
matinee, and behold the transformation! Within certain limits and
barring severe headaches, a woman is always well enough to do what she
wants to do--and no more.

As the habit creeps upon its victim, she loses sight of the fact
that there are other clothes. If she has a golf cape, she may venture
to go to the letter-box or even to market in her favourite garment.
After a while, when the habit is firmly fixed, a woman will wear a
dressing-sack all the time--that is, some women will, except on rare
and festive occasions. Sometimes in self-defence, she will say that
her husband loves soft, fluffy feminine things, and can't bear to see
her in a tailor-made outfit. This is why she wears the "soft fluffy
things," which, with her, always mean dressing-sacks, all the time he
is away from home, as well as when he is there.

It is a mooted question whether shiftlessness causes dressing-sacks,
or dressing-sacks cause shiftlessness, but there is no doubt about the
loving association of the two. The woman who has nothing to do, and
not even a shadow of a purpose in life, will enshrine her helpless
back in a dressing-sack. She can't wear corsets, because, forsooth,
they "hurt" her. She can't sit at the piano, because it's hard on her
back. She can't walk, because she "isn't strong enough." She can't
sew, because it makes a pain between her shoulders, and indeed why
should she sew when she has plenty of dressing-sacks?

This type of woman always boards, _if she can_, or has plenty of
servants at her command, and, in either case, her mind is free to
dwell upon her troubles.

First, there is her own weak physical condition. Just wait until she
tells you about the last pain she had. She doesn't feel like dressing
for dinner, but she will try to wash her face, if you will excuse her!
When she returns, she has plucked up enough energy to change her
dressing-sack!

The only cure for the habit is a violent measure which few indeed are
brave enough to adopt. Make a bonfire of the offensive garments, dear
lady; then stay away from the remnant counters, and after a while you
will become immune.

Nothing is done in a negligee of this sort which cannot be done
equally well i