Honey got into the dress as quickly as her trembling fingers would permit.
Skinner stood off and inspected her.
"That's a beautiful little dress for the house," he said finally, "but it does n't match this dress suit. Incompatible is n't the word."
"Would n't this humble dress set off your clothes by contrast?" Honey said, affecting meekness, her sense of humor getting the uppermost.
"Yes, but these clothes of mine would also set off that humble dress by contrast, and that I won't have for a minute! You're the beauty spot in this outfit, my dear," Skinner said tenderly, "not I. I 'm not going to do the peacock act. I'm the quiet, dignified one. That's what I affect. It rests with you to keep up the pulchritudinous end of it. That's it! You've got to dress up to this!"
He smiled fondly at the shrinking Honey.
Honey began to tremble. Dearie had no idea of the cost of women's clothes!
"Look here," Skinner went on, resuming the imperative, "I got this dress suit at a first-class tailor's—you go to a first-class dressmaker and get a gown to correspond with it. To correspond with my patent leathers, you get evening shoes at a first-class bootmaker's. To correspond with my overcoat, you get an evening cloak. Piece for piece, you must do just as I do. We'll be a symphony in clothes! Silk stockings, long gloves, silk underwear, and all the rest of it—that's what you're going to have!"
"But silk underwear? No one can see it, Dearie," Honey protested.
"There's a psychology to it, remember. I want you to feel well dressed."