"It will," agreed the Philosopher.
"I suppose," began the Skeptic, after some further moments of silence, "that it's really mostly clothes."
"She's a very charming girl," said the Gay Lady quickly. "I don't blame you."
"Honestly," said the Skeptic, sitting up and looking at her, "don't you think her clothes are about all there is of her?"
"No," said the Gay Lady stoutly.
"Yes," said the Philosopher comfortably.
"Yes—and no," said I, as the Skeptic looked at me.
"A girl," argued the Philosopher, suddenly pulling himself out of the hammock and beginning to pace the floor, "who could come here to this unpretentious country place with three trunks, and then wear their contents——Look here"—he paused in front of me and looked at me as piercingly as somewhat short-sighted blue eyes can look in the twilight—"did she ever wear the same thing twice?"
"I believe not," I admitted.
"A girl who could come to a place like this and make a show figure of herself in clothes that any fool could see cost—Cæsar, what must they cost!—and change four times a day—and keep us dancing around in starched collars——"