defects.

"Upon the beauty of this cousin, her father's wealth, and her
superabundant opportunities of matrimony, Miss Lucy enlarged to us, as
we sat in a corner. Another of her peculiarities, by-the-by, was this.
By her own account, all her relatives and friends were in some sense
beautiful. The men were generally 'splendidly handsome;' the ladies,
'the loveliest creatures.' If not 'lovely,' they were 'stylish;' if
nothing else, they were 'charming.' For those who were beyond the
magic circle, this process was reversed. If pretty, they 'wanted
style.' If the dress was beyond criticism, the nose, the complexion,
the hand was at fault. I have met with this _trait_ in other cliques,
since then.

"My dear Ida, I wish to encourage no young lady of the hoydenish age
of thirteen, in despising nice dressing and pretty looks and manners;
or in neglecting to pick up any little hints which she may glean in
such things from older friends. But there are people to whom these
questions seem of such first importance, that to be with them when you
are young and impressionable, is to feel every defect in your own
personal appearance to be a crime, and to believe that there is
neither worth, nor love, nor happiness (no life, in fact, worth living
for) connected with much less than ten thousand a year, and
'connections.' Through some such ordeal we passed that evening, in
seeing and hearing of all the expensive luxuries without which it
seemed impossible to feed, dress, sleep, go out--in fact, exist; and
all the equally expensive items of adornment, without which it
appeared to be impossible to have (or at any rate retain) the respect
and affection of your friends.