The lady was smiling more than ever; her air was more languishing; her
head inclined farther to one side. Such was her ecstacy of "inward
contemplation," to use her favorite phrase, that the weight of thought
bent down her yellow eye-lashes and clouded her languishing eyes.
She raised them, however, and glancing at Verty, started.
"Good-morning, ma'am," said Verty--"Miss, I mean. I got your letter."
"Good-morning, sir," said Miss Sallianna, with some stiffness; "where
are your clothes?"
Verty stared at Miss Sallianna with great astonishment, and said:
"My clothes?"
"Yes, sir."
"These are my clothes."
And Verty touched his breast.
"No, sir!" said Miss Sallianna.
"Not mine?"
"They may be yours, sir; but I do not call them clothes--they are mere
covering."
"_Anan_?" said Verty.
"They are barbarous."
"How, ma'am?"
Miss Sallianna tossed her head.
"It is not proper!" she said.
"What, ma'am?"
"Coming to see a lady in that plight."
"This plight?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Not proper?"
"No, sir!"
"Why not?"
"Because, sir, when a gentleman comes to pay his respects to a lady,
it is necessary that he should be clad in a manner, consistent with
the errand upon which he comes.
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