"I knew some catastrophe was impending, Eleanor; I have felt it all day. Poor Eleanor!"
"Now, Alice, be reasonable. What do you think of him—honestly, you know?"
"The man has excellent qualities; for instance, a perfect taste in cravats and an irreproachable propriety. Nobody ever saw him in any position out of the proper centre of gravity. Now, there is Carrol, always sitting round on tables or easels, or if on a chair, on the back or arms, or any way but as other Christians sit. Then Mr. Smith is handsome; very much so."
"Oh, you do admit that?"
"Yes; but I don't myself like men of the hairdresser style of beauty."
"Alice, what makes you dislike him so much?"
"Indeed, I don't, Eleanor. I think he is very 'nice,' and very respectable. Every one will say, 'What a suitable match!' and I dare say you will be very happy. He will do everything you tell him to do, Eleanor; and—oh dear me!—how I should hate a husband of that kind!"
"You little hypocrite!—with your talk of woman's 'rights' and woman's supremacy.'"
"No, Eleanor love, don't call it hypocrisy, please; say many-sidedness—it is a more womanly definition. But if it is really to be so, then I wish you joy, cousin. And what are you going to wear?"
This subject proved sufficiently attractive to keep Alice awake a couple of hours. She even crimped her hair in honor of the bridal shopping; and before matters had been satisfactorily arranged she was so full of anticipated pleasures that she felt really grateful to the author of them, and permitted herself to speak with enthusiasm of the bridegroom.