'Very nice indeed,' murmured the married lady, with a good-natured
smile. 'Perhaps a little--'

'There, I know what you're going to say. You think it's too showy.
Now I want you to tell me just what you think about
everything--everything. I shan't be offended. I'm not so silly. You
know I've come here to learn all sorts of things. To-morrow you
shall go over all my dresses with me, and those you don't like I'll
get rid of. I've never had anyone to tell me what's nice and what
isn't. I want to be--oh, well, you know what I mean.'

'But, my dear,' said Emmeline, 'there's something I don't quite
understand. You say I'm to speak plainly, and so I will. How is it
that you haven't made friends long ago with the sort of people you
wish to know? It isn't as if you were in poor circumstances.'

'How _could_ I make friends with nice people when I was ashamed to
have them at home? The best I know are quite poor--girls I went to
school with. They're much better educated than I am, but they make
their own living, and so I can't see very much of them, and I'm not
sure they want to see much of _me_. I wish I knew what people think
of me; they call me vulgar, I believe--the kind I'm speaking of.
Now, do tell me, Mrs. Mumford, _am_ I vulgar?'

'My dear Miss Derrick--' Emmeline began in protest, but was at once
interrupted.

'Oh! that isn't what I want. You must call me Louise, or Lou, if you
like, and just say what you really think. Yes, I see, I _am_ rather