tting,
and he with the last article in the paper, she really comes out with a
great deal of fresh, lively, earnest, original talk. We have a good
time, and I like her so much that it quite verges on loving; but see her
in a party, when she manifests herself over five or six flounces of pink
silk and a perfect egg-froth of tulle, her head adorned with a thicket
of craped hair and roses, and it is plain at first view that _talking_
with her is quite out of the question. What has been done to her head on
the outside has evidently had some effect within, for she is no longer
the Mrs. Brown you knew in her every-day dress, but Mrs. Brown in a
party state of mind, and too distracted to think of anything in
particular. She has a few words that she answers to everything you say,
as, for example, 'O, very!' 'Certainly!' 'How extraordinary!' 'So happy
to,' &c. The fact is, that she has come into a state in which any real
communication with her mind and character must be suspended till the
party is over and she is rested. Now I like society, which is the reason
why I hate parties."

"But you see," said Marianne, "what are we to do? Everybody can't drop
in to spend an evening with you. If it were not for these parties, there
are quantities of your acquaintances whom you would never meet."

"And of what use is it to meet them? Do you really know them any better
for meeting them, got up in unusual dresses, and sitting down together
when the only thing exchanged is the remark that it is hot or cold, or
it rains, or it is dry, or any other patent surface-fact that answers
the purpose of making believe you are talking when neither of you is
saying a word?"

"Well, now, for my part," said Marianne, "I confess I _like_ parties:
they amuse me. I come home feeling kinder and better to people, just for
the little I see of them when they are all dressed up and in good humor
with themselves. To be sure we don't say anything very profound,--I
don't think the most of us have anything very profound to say; but I ask
Mrs. Brown where she buys her lace, and she tells me how she washes it,
and somebody else tells me about her baby, and promises me a new
sack-pattern. Then I like to see the pretty, nice young girls flirting
with the nice young men; and I like to be dressed up a little myself,
even if my finery is all old and many times made over. It does me good
to be rubbed up and brightened."

"Like old silver," said Bob.

"Yes, like old silv