CHAPTER V.

"GOOD SOCIETY."


We had agreed, rather against the inclination of both of us, to dine the
next evening with the Morleys. We should have preferred our own society,
but we could not refuse.

"They will be talking to me about my pictures," said my husband, "and
that is just what I hate. People that know nothing of art, that can't
distinguish purple from black, will yet parade their ignorance, and expect
me to be pleased."

"Mr. Morley is a well-bred man, Percivale," I said.

"That's the worst of it,--they do it for good manners; I know the kind
of people perfectly. I hate to have my pictures praised. It is as bad as
talking to one's face about the nose upon it."

I wonder if all ladies keep their husbands waiting. I did that night, I
know, and, I am afraid, a good many times after,--not, however, since
Percivale told me very seriously that being late for dinner was the only
fault of mine the blame of which he would not take on his own shoulders.
The fact on this occasion was, that I could not get my hair right. It was
the first time I missed what I had been used to, and longed for the deft
fingers of my mother's maid to help me. When I told him the cause, he said