“Hush! Don't be foolish. The gown is no tighter than anyone else's. It's the style, Daniel, and you and I must get used to it. Are those your new shoes?”
“They certainly are. Do they look as new as they feel? I walk about the way you do, Serena. Bein' in style ain't all joy, is it?”
“It's better than being out of it. And, Daniel, please remember not to say 'ain't.' I've asked you so many times. We have our opportunity now and so must improve ourselves. You're not keeping store in the country any longer. You are a man of means, living among cultivated society people, and you must try to behave like the ladies and gentlemen you will be called upon to associate with.”
“Humph!” doubtfully. “I don't know as I could behave like a lady if I tried. As for the gentleman, if you mean Barney Black—”
“I mean B. Phelps Black. Don't you dare call him Barney to-night. If you do I shall be SO mortified. Hush! Here they are. Very well, Hapgood. You may show them in.”
Even Serena's new gown, fine as it was and proud as she had been of it, lost something of its glory and sank into a modest second place when Annette appeared. Mrs. Black had dressed for the occasion. Also, she had insisted upon her husband's dressing.
“What in blazes must I climb into a dress suit for?” demanded that gentleman grumpily. “Going to call on Dan Dott and his wife. You don't expect Dan to be wearing a dress suit, do you? He never wore one in his life.”
“It doesn't make any difference what he wears. I want you to go in evening dress.”
“But, confound it, Annette, we've been calling on those people all summer.”
“THAT was in the country; this is not. Don't you SEE, Phelps? Can't you understand? Those Dotts have come here to live. I did all I could to prevent it, but—”