“I believe you are right, Japhet.  Are you aware that Mr Cophagus has put off his plain attire?”

“If it grieves you, Susannah, it grieves me also; but I presume he finds it necessary not to be so remarkable.”

“For him, I could find some excuse; but what will you say, Japhet, when I tell you that my own sister, born and bred up to our tenets, hath also deviated much from the dress of the females of our sect?”

“In what hath she made an alteration?”

“She has a bonnet of plaited straw with ribbons.”

“Of what colour are the ribbons?”

“Nay, of the same as her dress—­of grey.”

“Your bonnet, Susannah, is of grey silk; I do not see that there is vanity in descending to straw, which is a more homely commodity.  But what reason has she given?”

“That her husband wills it, as he does not like to walk out with her in her Quaker’s dress.”

“Is it not her duty to obey her husband, even as I obey my father, Susannah?—­but I am not ashamed to walk out with you in your dress; so if you have no objection, let me show you a part of this great city.”

Susannah consented; we had often walked together in the town of Reading:  she was evidently pleased at what I said.  I soon escorted her to Oxford Street, from thence down Bond Street, and through all the most frequented parts of the metropolis.  The dress naturally drew upon her the casual glance of the passengers, but her extreme beauty turned the glance to an ardent gaze, and long before we had finished our intended walk, Susannah requested that I would go home.  She was not only annoyed but almost alarmed at the constant and reiterated scrutiny which she underwent, ascribing it to her dress, and not to her lovely person.  As soon as we returned I sat down with her.

“So I understand that Mr Cophagus intends to reside altogether in London.”

“I have not heard so; I understood that it was business which called him hither for a few weeks.  I trust not, for I shall be unhappy here.”

“May I ask why?”

“The people are rude—­it is not agreeable to walk out.”

“Recollect, my dear Susannah, that those of your sect are not so plentiful in London as elsewhere, and if you wear a dress so different from other people, you must expect that curiosity will be excited.  You cannot blame them—­it is you who make yourself conspicuous, almost saying to the people by your garment, ‘Come, and look at me.’  I have been reflecting upon what Mr Masterton said to you at Reading, and I do not know whether he was not right in calling it a garb of pride instead of a garb of humility.”

“If I thought so, Japhet, even I would throw it off,” replied Susannah.

“It certainly is not pleasant that every one should think that you walk out on purpose to be stared at, yet such is the ill-natured construction of the world, and they will never believe otherwise.  It is possible, I should think, to dress with equal simplicity and neatness, to avoid gay colours, and yet to dress so as not to excite observation.”