“You had better leave it to madame, Lucy,” said Emily; “I see she understands what you want. She will make it pretty, and not too expensive. Madame,” turning to the Frenchwoman, “Mrs. Coolidge is married, you know,” she added smiling, “and has a husband to consult.”
“Oh,” said the graceful artiste smiling, “when you husband see you look pretty, he tink noting of the cost.”
“I don’t know that, madame,” said Lucy laughing, unconsciously pleased at the flattery. “But you’ll make it as reasonable as possible.”
“Certain, madame; I make it as cheap as I can afford. You shall like your dress. And you, mademoiselle, will come to-morrow; I have some new costume.”
The Fancy Ball, which had been the talk of the town for a month, went off brilliantly. Emily’s dress was Madame Dudevant’s chef d’œuvre, and the delicate Titania looked the creation of a poet. But Tom, as Bully Bottom, was glorious. The young husband and wife were conspicuous amid even that distinguished throng; and Lucy, proud of her husband’s wit, entered with delight into the spirit of the whole; and he, as Madame Dudevant truly prophecied, when “he saw her look so pretty, thought nothing of the cost.”
——
CHAPTER II.
“Tom, dear,” said has wife one morning at breakfast, about the close of the first year of their marriage, “What do you mean to do about this house? I find that the rents on all this row have risen fifty dollars. I suppose our landlord will raise on us.”
“Yes,” replied her husband, knitting his brow with an anxious expression, “he told me so yesterday.”
“The rent is already high enough,” rejoined his wife, “for a house of this size, with none of the new improvements, too. Had we not better give it up?”