“None of your blamed business.”

The etiquette of the table is supposed to be so thoroughly rooted and grounded into our children from infancy, and is, as a rule, so well understood by all ladies and gentlemen, that the visitor though a fool, could scarcely err therein.  But this is not the case.  At my own board, a man of the world, accustomed to excellent society, told me that he saw no mustard on the table, and as he always liked it with his meat he would trouble me to order some; while another man, a brilliant scholar, asked at a dinner party, “Will you tell your butler to bring me a glass of milk?” With these men the sandpaper of parental admonition or the flowing varnish of early association had evidently been neglected.

Intimacy, and even tender friendship may, and do, exist between men and women who are bound to one another by no family tie.  Familiarity can never decently enter into such a relationship.  If you, as a refined woman, have a man friend who slaps you on the back, squeezes your arm to attract your attention, holds your hand longer than friendship ought to dictate, and, without your permission, calls you in public or in private by your first name, you need not hesitate to drop him from your list of intimates.  He is neither a gentleman nor does he respect you as you deserve.  He may be, in his way, an estimable man, but it is not in your way, and he belongs to the rank of very ordinary acquaintanceship.

If a man asks you to call him by his first name, and your friendship with him justifies it, do not hesitate to do so; but if he is the “finished” article, he will not imagine that this concession on your part gives him the right to drop unbidden the “Miss” or “Mrs.” from your name.

A true gentleman does not speak of a lady, even his betrothed, to strangers without what boys call “the handle” to her name.  Nor should a woman mention men by their last names only.  When a young or elderly woman speaks of “Smith,” “Brown” or “Jones,” you may make up your mind that the last coat of varnish was neglected when she was “finished.”

Always be cautious in making advances toward familiarity.  Be certain that your friendship is desired before going more than halfway.  Not long ago I heard a woman say gravely of an uncongenial acquaintance whose friendship had been forced upon her: 

“She is certainly my familiar friend.  We can never be intimate.”

CHAPTER XXVIII.

OUR STOMACHS.

In the best grades of society it is not now considered a sign of refinement to be “delicate.”  When our grandmothers, and even our mothers, were girls, robust health was esteemed almost a vulgarity.  Now, the woman who is pale and “delicate” is not an interesting invalid, but sometimes an absolute bore.  There are exceptions to this rule of pride in indelicate health,—­notably among