"They're not sincere, then?"
"Don't be silly. If they weren't sincere, why are there nothing but unwritten-law crimes all over France and Italy? And why do Parisians think and talk of ... nothing else! They're sincere all right: it's their hobby. Italians, of course, are more jealous and faithful, and Parisians are frightfully vain—there's a good deal of a sort of snobbism about it. They love to show off. That's why they're so keen on dress."
"Do you think," said Daphne, with sudden anxiety, "that if you don't dress to perfection you can't keep a man's love? I do hope not! I mean because when I'm married to Cyril I shan't be able to afford to wear anything at all, except a clean blouse which I shall have to iron out myself, like in Hearth and Home."
Valentia shook her head.
"Dressing to perfection doesn't make men love you, silly. It only makes women hate you. And I never have yet seen the advantage of that."
"Oh, then, do Parisians want other women to hate you?" asked Daphne. Her sister hesitated.
"Sometimes. Very often they don't. They want you to be admired by other people, whoever they are, men or women. But in Paris dress counts in a different sort of way—it means more—it stands for more. Oh, don't bother!"
"Well, give me a straightforward Englishman!" exclaimed Daphne.
"Yes, indeed!" replied Val. "That Belgian Herr, anyhow, doesn't count. I can't think why Mrs. Preb. and Miss Campbell are so much in love with him."
"Isn't it funny? Why do you think it is, Val?"