Dorothea Deakin

“ Rosette murmured thoughtfully. "I'm afraid he likes a woman to look a little bit theatrical. Floppy hats, don't you know, and lots of rustle—"
"Vandersplash," said I, "is at heart an Eastern, a great mogul. If you want to please him. Rosette, dress yourself in a white saree, with gold stars and silver moons on it; wear silver anklets on your little brown feet, to clash and chime with joy at his coming; fetter your delicate wrists together with jasmine chains; and veil yourself to the rest of the world."
Rosette grew scarlet, and, indeed, it was unpardonable of me.
"How dare you, Jerry! ”

“ Rosette sighed. "But about dress, Jerry. It's a dreadfully serious question for a poverty-stricken girl. I used to try to dress to please women once, when I first came out, but I don't now."
"Why not?" I asked, with some disapproval.
"Too expensive." She shook her dark head sadly. "It can't be done. Now, a man—"
"Don't stop. You interest me."
Rosette glanced at her pretty gown and smiled.
"Well, any rag pleases a man if it's pretty and fresh and well-cut."
"What more can a woman want?" ”

“ I murmured, with my silly heart in my eyes.
"When I see," said Rosette, hotly, "the hundreds of rich women who help to make our little town hideous instead of pretty, I could kill them, in their tweeds and their friezes and their absurd tartans belonging to no clan in the world. And their hats! Oh, Jerry!"
"I 've seen their hats," said I, with sympathy.
"Dress is everything to a woman," Rosette went on. "Don't talk to me of beauty unadorned!" ”