in Broadway--dresses his daughter as I dress, and gives her hundred-
dollar handkerchiefs. Two hundred million, my dear; two hundred
million!"

Eudosia had interpolated the word "hundred," quite innocently, for, as
usually happens with those to whom money is new, her imagination ran
ahead of her arithmetic. "Yes," she added, "two hundred millions;
besides sixty millions of odd money!"

"That sounds like a great deal," observed Clara quietly; for, besides
caring very little for these millions, she had not a profound respect for
her friend's accuracy on such subjects.

"It IS a great deal. Ma says there are not ten richer men than Pa in the
state. Now, does not this alter the matter about the pocket-
handkerchief? It would be mean in me not to have a hundred-dollar
handkerchief, when I could get one."

"It may alter the matter as to the extravagance; but it does not alter it as
to the fitness. Of what USE is a pocket-handkerchief like this? A
pocket-handkerchief is made for USE, my dear, not for show."

"You would not have a young lady use her pocket-handkerchief like a
snuffy old nurse, Clara?"

"I would have her use it like a young lady, and in no other way. But it
always strikes me as a proof of ignorance and a want of refinement
when the uses of things are confounded. A pocket-handkerchief, at the
best, is but a menial appliance, and it is bad taste to make it an object of
attraction. FINE, it may be, for that conveys an idea of delicacy in its