Had this party been at Mrs. Dr. Van Buren’s, in Boston, Ethelyn would have worn her beautiful white satin with the fleecy lace; but here it would be out of place, she thought, and so she left it pinned up in towels at the bottom of her trunk, and chose a delicate lavender, trimmed with white applique.  Lavender was not the most becoming color Ethelyn could wear, but she looked very handsome in it, with the soft pearls upon her neck and arms.  Richard thought her dress too low, while modest Andy averted his eyes, lest he should do wrong in looking upon the beautiful round neck and shoulders which so greatly shocked his mother.  “It was ridiculous and disgraceful for respectable wimmen folks to dress like that,” she said to Melinda Jones, who spoke up for Ethelyn, saying the dress was like that of all fashionable ladies, and in fact was not as low as Mrs. Judge Miller wore to a reception when Melinda was at school in Camden.

Mrs. Markham “did not care for Miss Miller, nor forty more like her.  Ethelyn looked ridickerlous, showing her shoulderblades, with that sharp point running down her back, and her skirts moppin’ the floor for half a yard behind.”

Any superfluity of length in Ethelyn’s skirts was more than counterbalanced by Mrs. Markham’s, who this night wore the heavy black silk which her sister-in-law had matched in Boston ten years before.  Of course it was too narrow and too short, and too flat in front, Andy said, admiring Ethelyn far more than he did his mother, even though the latter wore the coiffure which Aunt Barbara had sent her, and a big collar made from the thread lace which Mrs. Captain Markham, of Chicopee, had also matched in Boston.  Ethelyn was perfect, Andy thought, and he hovered constantly near her, noticing how she carried her hands, and her handkerchief, and her fan, and thinking Richard must be perfectly happy in the possession of such a gem.

But Richard was not happy—­at least not that night—­for, with Mrs. Miller, and Marcia Fenton, and Ella Backus before her mind, Ethelyn had lectured him again on etiquette, and Richard did not bear lecturing here as well as at Saratoga.  There it was comparatively easy to make him believe he did not know anything which he ought to know; but at home, where the old meed of praise and deference was awarded to him, where his word was law and gospel, and he was Judge Markham, the potentate of the town, Ethelyn’s criticisms were not palatable, and he hinted that he was old enough to take care of himself without quite so much dictation.  Then, when he saw a tear on Ethelyn’s eyelashes, he would have put his arm around her and kissed it away, if she had not kept him back, telling him he would muss her dress.  Still he was not insensible to her pretty looks, and felt very proud of her, as she stood at his side and shook the hands of the arriving guests.