But the majority turned away not quite satisfied--with an inward
foreboding that all was not as well as it might be--that critical eyes
would see ground for criticism. Especially was this true of those whom
Time's interfering fingers had pulled somewhat awry, even beyond the
remedy of art, and of those whose bank account, jewels, silks, etc.,
were not quite up to the standard of some others who might jostle them
in the crush. Realize, my reader, the anguish of a lady compelled to
stand by another lady wearing larger diamonds than her own, or more
point lace, or a longer train. What _will_ the world think, as under
the chandelier this painful contrast comes out? Such moments of deep
humiliation cause sleepless nights, and the next day result in bills
that become as crushing as criminal indictments to poor overworked
men. Under the impulse of such trying scenes as these, many a matron
has gone forth on Broadway with firm lips and eyes in which glowed
inexorable purpose, and placed the gems that would be mill-stones
about her husband's neck on the fat arms or fingers that might have
helped him forward. There are many phases of heroism, but if you
want your breath quite taken away, go to Tiffany's, and see some
large-souled woman, who will not even count the cost or realize the
dire consequences--see her, like some martyr of the past, who would
show to the world the object of his faith though the heavens fell,
march to the counter, select the costliest, and say in tones of
majesty:

"Send the bill to my husband!"

Oh, acme of faith! The martyrs knew that the Almighty was equal to
the occasion. She knows that her husband is not; yet she trusts, or,
what is the same thing here, gets trusted. Men allied to such women