"I suppose Rotha has what you would call a good figure. But no lace, mamma! and no veil!"
"There was lace on her sleeves—and handsome."
"O but nothing remarkable. And no veil, mamma?"
"Wanted to shew her hair—" said Mrs. Busby. It had been a sour morning's work for the poor woman.
"And not a flower; not a bouquet; not a bit of ornament of any kind!"
Antoinette went on. "What is the use of being married so? And I know if
I was going to be married, I would have a better travelling bonnet.
Just a common little straw, with a ribband round it! Ridiculous."
"Men are very apt to like that kind of thing," said her mother.
"Are they? Why are they. And if they are, why don't we wear them?
Mamma!—isn't it ridiculous to see how taken up Mr. Southwode is with
Rotha?"
"I did not observe that he was so specially 'taken up,'" Mrs. Busby said.
"O but he had really no eyes for anybody else; and he and I used to be good friends once. Of course, Mr. Southwode is never empress?—but I saw that she could not move without his knowing it; and if a chair was half a mile off he would put it out of her way. Mamma—I think I should like to be married."
"Don't be silly, Antoinette! Your turn will come."