“Hold your tongue, Miss—­of course I know—­and if I didn’t, it is not for you to teach me.”

Mr. Timothy Cockayne heaved a deep sigh and rang for his bill.

He was to leave for London on the morrow—­and his wife and daughters were to find lodgings.

CHAPTER VII.

OUR FOOLISH COUNTRYWOMEN.

I Introduce at this point—­its proper date—­Miss Carrie Cockayne’s letter to Miss Sharp:—­

“Grand Hotel, Paris.

“DEAREST EMMY—­They are all out shopping, so here’s a long letter.  I haven’t patience with the men.  I am sure we have had enough abuse in our own country, without travelling all the way to Paris for it; and yet the first paper I take up in the reading saloon of the hotel, contains a paragraph headed Le Beau Sexe en Angleterre.  The paragraph is violent.  The writer wants to know what demon possesses the Englishwomen at this moment.  I might have been sure it was translated from an English paper.  The creature wants to know whether the furies are let loose, and is very clever about Lucretia Borgia, and Mary Manning, and Mary Newell!  One would think English mothers were all going to boil their children.  This is just what has happened about everything else.  In certain English circles slang is talked:  therefore women have become coarse and vulgar.  The Divorce Court has been a busy one of late; and scandals have been ‘going round’ as the American ladies in this hotel say; therefore there are to be no more virtuous mothers and sisters presently.  Upon my word, the audacity of this makes my blood boil.  Here the ladies paint, my dear, one and all.  Why, the children in the Tuileries gardens whisk their skirts, and ogle their boy playmates.  Vanity Fair at its height is here—­I am not going to dispute it.  Nor will I say papa is quite in the wrong when he cries shame on some of the costumes one meets on the Boulevards.  My dear, short skirts and grey hair do not go well together.  I cannot even bear to think of grand-mamma showing her ankles and Hessian boots!  But what vexes and enrages me is the injustice of the sudden outcry.  Where has the slang come from?  Pray who brought it into the drawing-room?  How is it that girls delight in stable-talk, and imitate men in their dress and manners?  We cannot deny that the domestic virtues have suffered in these fast days, nor that wife and husband go different ways too much:  but are we to bear all the blame?  Did we build the clubs, I wonder?  Did you or I invent racing, and betting, and gambling?  Do you like being lonely, as you are, my dear?  When women go wrong, who leads the way?  The pace is very fast now, and we do give more time to dress, and that sort of thing than our mothers did.  I own I’m a heavy hand at pastry, and mamma is a light one.  I couldn’t tell you how many shirts papa has.  I should be puzzled to make my own dresses.  I hate needlework.  But