“And about your hat,” continued Alice, reproachfully, “why, Emma, should you not have told the truth?” “Because,” replied Emma, indignantly, “she would just have sent for Henrietta, and had hats made for both her girls precisely after mine, which, by the way, she would probably have sent to borrow as a pattern, if I had let her know she made it in the house. Mrs. Gardiner has no conscience, no decency about those things. She don’t scruple imitating any thing you have, if she can.” Alice could not but smile in her turn at Emma’s ideas of ‘conscience,’ and ‘scruples,’ but she said, “Do you think she believed you, Emma?” “I don’t know whether she did or not, and I don’t care. She did not find out the truth, and that’s all I care about,” replied Emma, still quite indignant with Mrs. Gardiner. “No, I don’t suppose she did,” she continued, carelessly. “Nobody who saw the hat, and has eyes in their head, can mistake a home-made hat for a French one. But she could not tell me so, you know; and I don’t care what she thinks. I could not help laughing, Alice,” continued Emma, more in her usual gay manner, “to see you look so confounded when Mrs. Gardiner came in. You certainly have the most tell-tale face in the world. But it wont do, Alice. Now, as you have been lecturing me, I am going to return the compliment. Something _is_ due to the _bienséances_ of society, and you, with your truth, are really sometimes downright rude. Now last night, after Fanny Elton sung, you never said a word to Mrs. Elton, who sat beside you. Your coldness cost me a double dose of civility. I had to say all I could to make up for you. Do, pray, Alice, do your own civilities in future, for I have quite enough fibbing to do on my own account, without undertaking yours.” “What could I say?” said Alice. “You _would_ ask the girl to sing, and you know she has no voice, and is so dreadfully false, too. I really felt pained for her mother.” “The more reason, my dear, why you should have said something civil to her,” replied Emma. “But I could not, Emma. It was out of the question to say any thing complimentary; and so I thought it best to say nothing. How you could go on as you did, amazed me, for you gave me such a funny look, which, by the way, I was so afraid Mrs. Elton would see, when she came out with those horrid false notes.” “It was dreadful, to be sure,” said Emma. “But I think it not only uncivil, but really unamiable, Alice, not to stretch the truth sometimes. I declare I was quite delighted with myself for making the old lady so happy as I did, by praising Fanny’s music; and as for not asking her, that would never have done. They think at home she is the greatest musician in the city. One has _got_ to fib sometimes.” “Oh, don’t say so,” said Alice, earnestly. “I do love the truth—it’s a—”