"I don't know, sir. People do wear black things when they have lost friends."
"What for do they so?"
"I don't know, Mr. Richmond; but people say it shews respect—and that I do not shew"—
"Let us look at it quietly," said her friend. "How does it shew respect to a lost friend, to put on a peculiar dress?"
"I don't know, sir; because it's the custom, I suppose. But I am not in black. Ought I to be?"
"Wait; we will come to it. Black dresses are supposed to be a sign of grief, are they not?"
"I don't know, Mr. Richmond; they said, of respect, and to put one in mind."
"The grief that wants putting in mind, is not a grief that pays much real respect, I should think. Do not you think so? that's one thing."
Matilda looked at him, with eyes intent and pitifully full of tears, just ready to run over, but eagerly watching his lips.
"Then as to respect, black dresses must shew respect, if any way, by saying to the world that we remember and are sorry. Now the fact is, Matilda, they do not say that at all. They are worn quite as much by people who do not remember, and who are not sorry. They tell nothing about the truth, except that some of those who wear them like to be in the fashion and some are afraid of what the world will say.