“But when we give a party in our place,” continued the unabashed man of the people, “we don’t give such suppers: I have heard the gentleman next to me say that the table, just as it was, must have cost three hundred dollars.”
“Why,” stammered the lady, “it’s impossible for me to say.”
“I dare say it cost a great deal more,” continued the tribune; “I should not like to father the bill.”
“How old is your eldest daughter, sir?” demanded the lady, by way of changing the conversation.
“Pretty nearly sixteen; she is quite a woman, ma’am.”
“Why don’t you bring her to town? I should be happy to make her acquaintance.”
“Very much obliged to you for your kindness, ma’am; but it won’t do. New York is too expensive a place; I should not be able to keep my daughter in the fashions, and, without that, she would not find much pleasure in a stay in this city.”
“Come, come, that’s an old-fashioned notion of yours; you would not bring up your daughter as a country girl, would you?”
“Not exactly that; but still I like her to know something about housekeeping. Your fine city ladies do not seem to trouble themselves much about that.”
“Why, they have other things to do,” said the lady, almost impatiently.