“Oh, it does not matter; I shall never wear it now; and, under such a blow as this, I am in no humor to find fault. Indeed, with my grief I neglect my household and my very children. I forget everything; what did I send for you for?” and she looked with lack-luster eyes full in Mrs. Baldwin's face. “Jane did not say, ma'am, but I am at your orders.” “Oh, of course; I am distracted. It was to pay the last tribute of respect to her dear memory. Ah! Baldwin, often and often the black dress is all; but here the heart mourns beyond the power of grief to express by any outward trappings. No matter; the world, the shallow world, respects these signs of woe, and let mine be the deepest mourning ever worn, and the richest. And out of that mourning I shall never go while I live.” “No, ma'am,” said Baldwin soothingly. “Do you doubt me?” asked the lady, with a touch of sharpness that did not seemed called for by Baldwin's humble acquiescence. “Oh, no, ma'am; it is a very natural thought under the present affliction, and most becoming the sad occasion. Well, ma'am, the deepest mourning, if you please, I should say cashmere and crape.” “Yes, that would be deep. Oh, Baldwin, it is her violent death that kills me. Well?” “Cashmere and crape, ma'am, and with nothing white about the neck and arms.” “Yes; oh yes; but will not that be rather unbecoming?” “Well, ma'am--” and Baldwin hesitated. “I hardly see how I _could_ wear that, it makes one look so old. Now don't you think black _glace_ silk, and trimmed with love-ribbon, black of course, but scalloped--” “That would be very rich, indeed, ma'am, and very becoming to you; but, being so near and dear, it would not be so deep as you are desirous of.” “Why, Baldwin, you don't attend to what I say; I told you I was never going out of mourning again, so what is the use of your proposing anything to me that I can't wear all my life? Now tell me, can I always wear cashmere and crape?” “Oh no, ma'am, that is out of the question; and if it is for a permanency, I don't see how we could improve on _glace_ silk, with crape, and love-ribbons. Would you like the body trimmed with jet, ma'am?” “Oh, don't ask me; I don't know. If my darling had only died comfortably in her bed, then we could have laid out her sweet remains, and dressed them for her virgin tomb.” “It would have been a satisfaction, ma'am.” “A sad one, at the best; but now the very earth, perhaps, will never receive her. Oh yes, anything you like--the body trimmed with jet, if you wish it, and let me see, a gauze bodice, goffered, fastened to the throat. That is all, I think; the sleeves confined at the wrist just enough not to expose the arm, and yet look light--you understand.” “Yes, ma'am.”