"Well, I did think," she declared, vigorously, "that I was marrying a
man who looked like a gentleman, at least! Do you mean to say, Alfred,
that you mean to go into the city like that?"

"Certainly," Burton replied. "And Ellen!"

"Well?"

"Since we are upon the subject of dress, may I have a few words? You
have given expression to your dislikes quite freely. You will not mind
if I do the same?"

"Well, what have you got to say?" she demanded, belligerently.

"I don't like your bun," Burton said firmly.

"Don't like my what?" his wife shrieked, her hands flying to the back of
her head.

"I don't like your bun--false hair, or whatever you call it," Burton
repeated. "I don't like that brooch with the false diamonds, and if you
can't afford a clean white blouse, I'd wear a colored one."

Mrs. Burton's mouth was open but for the moment she failed to express
herself adequately. Her husband continued.

"Your skirt is fashionable, I suppose, because it is very short and very
tight, but it makes you walk like a duck, and it leaves unconcealed so
much of your stockings that I think at least you should be sure that
they are free from holes."