Part 6, Chapter XLIV.
Jem’s Ideal.
“Faultily faultless—icily regular—splendidly null.”
The weather favoured the choir festival at H— and the production of spring dresses for the occasion. James cast critical eyes on his mother’s bonnet and on Frederica’s hat; and anxiously consulted Arthur as to whether he liked a flower in the button-hole of a morning.
“Oh, yes, when you want to look festive,” said Arthur, without paying much attention till he was roused from the perusal of the “Times” by a crash in the conservatory; and on hastening to the rescue perceived Jem, contemplating the ruins of his mother’s best azalea, which he had knocked over in trying to reach a bit of fern beyond it. Three dainty little bouquets were already lying in a row.
“Well, Jem, you have done it now!”
“Oh, confound the thing, yes—and it’s time to be off. Isn’t the carriage there?”
“Not yet. Are you going to wear three bouquets?”