“Well, you need not break your heart for that. You will get over it before you have been married a year. Look at me; I was as shy as any of you at first going off, but now I can speak my mind; and a good thing too, or what would become of me among the selfish set?”
“Meaning me, dear?”
“No. Divide it among you. Come, this is idle talk. Men's voices, and whether they are good, bad, or indifferent, as if that mattered a pin, provided their incomes are good and their manners endurable. I want a little serious conversation with you.”
“Do you?” and Lucy colored faintly; “with all my heart.”
“We go to the Hunts' ball the day after to-morrow, Lucy; I suppose you know that? Now what on earth am I to wear? that is the question. There is no time to get a new dress made, and I have not got one—”
“That you have not worn at least once.”
“Some of them twice and three times;” and the B looked aghast at the state of nudity to which she was reduced. Lucy sidled toward the door.
“Since you consult me, dear, I advise you to wear what I mean to wear myself.”
“Ah! what a capital idea! then we shall pass for sisters. I dare say I have got some old thing or other that will match yours; but you had better tell me at once what you do mean to wear.”
“A gown, a pair of gloves, and a smirk”; and with this heartless expression of nonchalance Lucy glided away and escaped the impending shower.