Resolving to explore a little, I said:

"I know a great many men in town."

"Indeed!" she queried, with kindling interest.

"Yes, and some of them are fine artists; and the majority have
cultivated their tastes in various ways, both at home and abroad: but
I do not think many of them have any respect for what you mean by
'style.' Shop-boys, clerks, and Fifth Avenue exquisites give their
minds to the arbitrary mode of the hour; but the men in the city who
amount to anything rarely know whether a lady's gown is of the latest
cut. They do know, however, whether it is becoming and lady-like. The
solid men of the city have a keen eye for beauty, and spend hundreds
of thousands of dollars to enjoy its various phases. But half of the
time they are anathematizing mere style. I have seen fashion transform
a pretty girl into as near an approach to a kangaroo as nature
permitted. Now, I shall be so bold as to say that I think your costume
this afternoon has far better qualities than mere style. It is
becoming, and in keeping with the day and season, and I don't care a
fig whether it is the style or not."

My "perfect flower of womanhood" grew radiant, and her lips parted in
a smile of ineffable content. In bitter disappointment I saw that my
artifice had succeeded, and that I had touched the key-note of her
being. To my horror, she reminded me of a pleased, purring kitten that
had been stroked in the right direction.

"Your judgment is hasty and harsh," I charged myself, in half-angry
accusation, loth to believe the truth. "You do not know yet that a