"Well, ... perhaps it might. Let me see some white, if you please."
"Perhaps you would like blonde, ma'am?" said the milliner, opening a box, and displaying some tempting specimens.
"Beautiful indeed!... very!... What is the price of this one?"
"A mere trifle, ma'am.... Give me leave to begin your account with this."
"Well, I really think I must.... I know they clean as good as new."
"What is Agnes to wear?" inquired Elizabeth.
"There is one of my troubles, my dear; she will wear nothing but the deepest mourning. Between you and me, Elizabeth, I suspect it is some feeling about her poor mother, or else for her father, who has never been heard of for years, but whom we all suppose to have died abroad,—I suspect it is some feeling of this sort that makes her so very obstinate about it. But she can't bear to have it talked of, so don't say a word to her on the subject, or she will be out of sorts for a week, and will think it very cruel of me to have named it to you. I perfectly dote upon that girl, Elizabeth, ... though, to be sure, I have my trials with her! But we have all our trials, Elizabeth!... and, thank Heaven! I have a happy temper, and bear mine, I believe, as well as most people. But about that strange whim that Agnes has, of always wearing crape and bombasin, you may as well just mention it to your mamma and sisters, to prevent their taking any notice of it to her; for if they did, you may depend upon it she would not go to the ball at all.... Oh! you have no idea of the obstinacy of that darling girl!... These gloves will do at last, I think.... Your gloves are all so remarkably small, Mrs. Duval!... And that's all for this morning."
"Where shall I send them, ma'am, and to what name?"
"To Mrs. Barnaby, No. 1, Sion Row."
"Thank you, ma'am.... They shall be sent immediately."