"As to my dressmaker," said Lossie, "she's going to summon me. It's all these hateful seasons of the year--as soon as one is straight for spring, it's summer, then winter in the middle of _that_--and so on. Why can't we live in a place where the same sort of clothes do all the year round?" "That blue frock you wore at the ball must have been very expensive," said Gay hesitatingly; "the dear aunt really does her best, you know." "Oh, it's easy for you to talk," cried Lossie spitefully. "One-half of the feminine world is a pincushion, for the other rich and happy half to stick pins in, and I don't pretend to be like Aunt Lavinia, who would rather be the pincushion than the pins!" "I'm sure," said Gay wearily, too unhappy to be indignant, "_I_ never stuck any pins in you or anybody else." "Well, no," admitted Lossie, who had an excellent reason for getting Gay into a good temper, "_you_ don't, but every woman is given two chances of happiness in life, a rich father, or an adequate husband--or both--but as a matter of fact, the double event seldom comes off--indeed, far more women are ruined by their fathers than their husbands. _Cherchez la femme_ indeed! Oh, it's easy enough for a girl to be gay, to be happy, if she's rich--if men 'don't go after the money,' they don't refuse to go where the money is!" Gay coloured. She knew well enough that her fortune counted for nothing in the eyes of at least two men towards her--Chris couldn't and wouldn't give up trying to win her because she had more money than he had, and Carlton was so rich, that if he ever cast it a thought, it was merely as private pocket-money with which to buy chiffons and fal-lals. "How much will your dressmaker take off her account?" she said, for she always preferred coming to the point, to beating about the bush, and she was used to these periodical attacks on her pocket. "Thirty pounds would do. Then I could order something for--" "Don't," said Gay, who had drawn out her cheque-book, and begun to write. "Lossie," she said half sadly, as she came forward, and handed her cousin a slip of pink paper, "why do you bother so much about the outside of you? Be rice, be natural, be _kind_; don't talk scandal--men _hate_ it--" She paused and blushed; unconsciously she was trying to teach Lossie those pretty manners and ways of her own that men cherish so deeply, and to which their homage, so long forgotten among brusque women, inevitably sprang. "I can't be a dear little charmer like you, Gay, if you mean that," said Lossie, as she put the cheque away, and warmly thanked its giver, though after all it was no more than her right. Those who _had_, ought to share with those who had not, and our Labour Members' vigorous contention that people who have money, should be forced to provide for those who have spent theirs, also for those who can't and won't work, expressed her opinion exactly.