timated, and they never did
estimate--the time lost over pattern books, the nervous strain of
placing this bit of spangled net or that square inch of lace, the
hurried trips downtown for samples and linings, for fringes and
embroideries and braids and ribbons. The gown that she wore to her own
dinner, Mrs. White had had fitted in the Maison Dernier Mot, in
Paris;--it was an enchanting frock of embroidered white illusion, over
pink illusion, over black illusion, under a short heavy tunic of silver
spangles and threads. The yoke was of wonderful old lace, and there was
a girdle of heavy pink cords, and silver clasps, to match the aigrette
that was held by pink and silver cords in Mrs. White's beautifully
arranged hair.

Mrs. Burgoyne's gowns, or rather gown, for she wore exactly the same
costume to every dinner, could hardly have been more startling than
Santa Paloma found it, had it gone to any unbecoming extreme. Yet it
was the simplest of black summer silks, soft and full in the skirt,
short-sleeved, and with a touch of lace at the square-cut neck. She
arranged her hair in a becoming loose knot, and somehow managed to look
noticeably lovely and distinguished, in the gay assemblies. To brighten
the black gown she wore a rope of pearls, looped twice about her white
throat, and hanging far below her waist; pearls, as Mrs. Adams remarked
in discouragement later, that "just made you feel what's the use! She
could wear a kitchen apron with those pearls if she wanted to, everyone
would know she could afford cloth of gold and ermine!"

With this erratic and inexplicable simplicity of dress she combined the
finish of manner, the poise, the ready sympathies of a truly cultivated
and intelligent woman. She could talk, not only of her own personal
experiences, but of the political, and literary, and scientific
movements of the day. Certain proposed state legislation happened to be
interesting the men of Santa Paloma at this time, and she seemed to
understand it, and spoke readily of it.

"But, George," said Mrs. Carew, walking home in the summer night, after
the Adams dinner, "you have often said you hated women to talk about
things they didn't understand."

"But she does understand, dearie. That's just the point."

"Yes; but you differed with her, George!"

"Well, but that's different, Jen. She knew what she was talking about."

"I suppose she has friends in Washington who keep her informed," said
Mrs. Carew, a little dis