“To oversee the others, and keep everything upon velvet, of course.” “I could do that, dear Raymond.” “But you shall not, dear Hagar. You are the lady of the mansion; but forget the house. I could not bear to see your brow corrugated by the thousand and one cares of housekeeping, or to have you come near me with the odor of pantries or stove-rooms hanging about you, for I should be sure to detect it through any disguise of perfume; and that is the great reason why I keep Mrs. Collins. You have nothing to do with the house, love. Cultivate your beauty, Hagar; refine it; you have nothing else to do, except to take lessons on the harp, which lessons and practice will help to fill up the hours of my _absence_, Hagar; for indeed, love, I think it would give me a brain fever to hear your unpractised fingers strumming discord in my ears.” “Will you permit me to inquire,” asked Hagar, “why, with your sensitive, delicate, and luxurious tastes, you could fancy”— “Such a wild, dark little savage as yourself?” “Yes.” He raised her from the sofa, and turning around, faced the full length mirror that occupied the space between the two windows behind it. “Look at your reflection, Hagar,” her eyes and _color_ raised at the same moment. “You are a little dark, sparkling creature, your effect is exhilarating. A languishing beauty in these languishing rooms would have been softness to flatness. Are not the perfumes more piquant when conveyed through the medium of spirits of wine? You are just _l’esprit_ that gives life to all this soft luxury; and look again, Hagar—survey yourself—see, this amber dress and amber complexion suit well together; and this is harmony. Suppose your hair was of the same hue, then the _tout ensemble_ would be dull, flat, wearisome. But your ringlets fall black and glittering upon the amber-hued neck and bosom, and this is contrast. Thus contrast and harmony form the perfection of your toilet.” “I am sure I never thought of that,” said Hagar, “when wishing to do honor to your fine house I put on a fine dress: but now I suppose—though I do not care to have my mind skewered down to such trifles—I must think a little more of it, as I suspect that in this grand house you receive grand company sometimes.” “_Never_, Hagar; how do you suppose I could afford it? for if I received grand company I should be invited to grand dinners, and have to give them in return, and that would disturb the luxurious repose of our house and life—no, Hagar, I am too self-indulgent to be ostentatious, or even hospitable. I like everything upon velvet, all downy, reposing, silent, or breathing low music”— “Except me.”