"Now, Tom, you know she is," expostulated Emma.
"No, Emma," said Tom, "if you will permit me, I know no such thing."
"You surely don't admire her, too," said Emma, with a look of mingled alarm and disgust.
"No," said Tom, "she is as you say, vulgar, and somewhat forward—but not ugly. On the contrary, she is decidedly handsome."
"Handsome!" repeated Miss Leveredge. "Do you call her handsome, with all those hanging curls, and that feronière, and her hat on the very back of her head; with her short petticoats and big feet—and such bright colors, and quantity of tawdry jewelry as she wears, too."
"You women never can separate a girl from her dress," said Tom, laughing. "Miss Dawson dresses execrably, I grant you; but give her one half of the advantages of the girls that you see around you in society, and she would be not only pretty, but beautiful."
"Then she may be improved," said Mrs. Castleton, hopefully.
"Not much of that," said Tom. "She is very well satisfied with herself, I imagine."
"Oh, it's evident she's a public belle and beauty in her own set," said Emma. "She's full of airs and graces."
Mrs. Castleton sighed.