“Mr. Westbury highly approves the elegant simplicity of Mrs. Westbury's style of dress, and in consulting her own taste, she will undoubtedly gratify his. He has _but once_ seen her wear an unbecoming article. The contents of the accompanying box were selected, not for their intrinsic value or splendor, but because they correspond so well with Mrs. Westbury's style of dress and of beauty. If she will wear them to Mrs. T——'s, she will gratify the giver.” Julia opened the box, and a set of beautiful pearls met her view. “How delicate, how kind, and how cold he is!” thought she. “O, how trifling the value of these gems, compared to one particle of his love!—Yet for his sake I will wear them—not as my adorning—may _that_ ever be the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, but as proof of my desire in all things to please him, and meet his approbation.” Mrs. T——'s rooms were well filled with the elegant and fashionable, on the evening on which her house was opened to receive company. But the heart of Julia was not in such scenes. The more she saw of fashionable life the less she liked it. Emulation, envy, detraction, and dissimulation were obtruding themselves on her notice, amid gaiety and splendor. Her conscientious scruples as to the propriety of thus mixing with the world, increased rather than diminished. “I promised,” thought she, while she was surveying the gay assembly—“I promised, in all things lawful, to obey my husband—but is this _lawful_ for me? It is my duty—it is my _pleasure_ to comply with all his wishes, where superior duties do not forbid; but is it allowable for me to try to please him _thus_? His heart is the prize at which I aim, but will ‘the end sanctify the means?’ Can I expect a blessing from above on my efforts, while my conscience is not _quite_ clear as to the rectitude of the path I pursue? Can I not have moral courage enough to tell him my scruples? and dare I not hazard the consequences?” Julia's reflections were interrupted by the approach of Mrs. Cunningham. {422} “How serious you look, Mrs. Westbury,” said she. “Really, you and Mr. Cunningham would do well together, for you are both more grave in a party than any where else. Mr. Cunningham actually tries my patience by his disrelish for society. I do believe he is now quite well; yet he made indisposition an excuse for not coming with me to-night! But,” said she, lowering her voice almost to a whisper, “I shall show him that I can be _obstinate_ as well as he! He chooses to stay at home—I choose to come out—and if he will not come with me, neither will I stay with him. I should rather live in a cottage in the country, and have done with it, for there I should have nothing to expect but stupidity; but to live in the midst of elegant society, and yet be constrained to immure one's self, is intolerable, and I _will not_ submit to it!”