us both to wear red ribbons mixed with our white ones. I did not
know what to do.

"I did not know Mrs Desborough was a trimmer," said Annas, in the
severest tone I ever heard from her lips.

"What shall we do?" said I.

"I shall not wear them," said Flora. "Mrs Desborough is not my
grandmother; nor has my father put me in her care. I do not see,
therefore, that I am at all bound to obey her. For you, Cary, it is
different. I think you will have to submit."

"But only think what it means!" cried I.

"It means," said Annas, "that you are indifferent in the matter of
politics."

"If it meant only that," I said, "I should not think much about it. But
surely it means more, much more. It means that I am disloyal; that I do
not care whether the King or the Elector wins the day; or even that I do
care, and am willing to hide my belief for fashion's or money's sake.
This red ribbon on me is a lie; and an acted lie is no better than a
spoken one."

My Aunt Dorothea came in so immediately after I had spoken that I felt
sure she must have heard me.

"Dear me, what a fuss about a bit of ribbon!" said she. "Cary, don't be
a little goose."

"Aunt, I only want to be true!" cried I. "It is my truth I make a fuss
about, not my ribbons. I will wear a ribbon of every colour in the
rainbow, if Grandmamma wish it, except just this one which tells
falsehoods about me."

"My dear, it is so unbecoming in you to be thus warm!" said my Aunt
Dorothea. "Enthusiasm is always in bad taste, no matter what it is
about. You will not see half-a-dozen ladies in the room in white
ribbons. Nobody expects the Prince to come South."

"But, Aunt, please give me leave to say that it will not alter my
truthfulness, whether the Prince comes to London or goes to the North
Pole!" cried I. "If the Elector himself--"

"'Sh-'sh!" said my Aunt Dorothea. "My dear, that sort of thing may be
very well at Brocklebank, but it really will not do in Bloomsbury
Square. You must not bring your wild, antiquated Tory notions here.
Tories are among the extinct animals."

"Not while my father is alive, please, Aunt."

"My dear, we are not at Brocklebank, as I told you just now," answered
my Aunt Dorothea. "It may be all very well to toast the Chevalier, and
pray for him, and so forth--(I am sure I don't know whether it do him
any good): but when you come to living in the world with other people,
you must do as they do.--Yes, Perkins, certainly,