“You look as if you’d just waked up from a nap of a week with your clothes on, and come off without washing your face or combing your hair,” said my husband.

“Oh!” And Edward’s countenance brightened a little.  Then he said with much gravity of manner—­

“I’ve been extremely hurried of late; and only left my store a few minutes ago.  I hardly thought it worth while to go home to dress up.  I knew we were all friends here.  Besides, as my fortune is made”—­and he glanced with a look not to be mistaken toward his wife—­“I don’t feel called upon to give as much attention to mere dress as formerly.  Before I was married, it was necessary to be particular in these matters, but now it’s of no consequence.”

I turned toward Cora.  Her face was like crimson.  In a few moments she arose and went quickly from the room.  I followed her, and Edward came after us pretty soon.  He found his wife in tears, and sobbing almost hysterically.

“I’ve got a carriage at the door,” said he to me, aside, half laughing, half serious.  “So help her on with her things, and we’ll retire in disorder.”

“But it’s too bad in you, Mr. Douglass,” replied I.

“Forgive me for making your house the scene of this lesson to Cora,” he whispered.  “It had to be given, and I thought I could venture to trespass upon your forbearance.”

“I’ll think about that,” said I, in return.

In a few minutes Cora and her husband retired, and in spite of good breeding and every thing else, we all had a hearty laugh over the matter, on my return to the parlour, where I explained the curious little scene that had just occurred.

How Cora and her husband settled the affair between themselves, I never inquired.  But one thing is certain, I never saw her in a slovenly dress afterward, at home or abroad.  She was cured.

THE GOOD MATCH.

“My heart is now at rest,” remarked Mrs. Presstman to her sister, Mrs. Markland.  “Florence has done so well.  The match is such a good one.”

Mrs. Presstman spoke with animation, but her sister’s countenance remained rather grave.

“Mr. Barker is worth at least eighty thousand dollars,” resumed Mrs. Presstman.  “And my husband says, that if he prospers in business as he has done for the last ten years, he will be the richest merchant in the city.  Don’t you think we have been fortunate in marrying Florence so well?”

“So far as the securing of wealth goes, Florence has certainly done very well,” returned Mrs. Markland.  “But, surely, sister, you have a higher idea of marriage than to suppose that wealth in a husband is the primary thing.  The quality of his mind is of much more importance.”

“Oh, certainly, that is not to be lost sight of.  Mr. Barker is an excellent man.  Every one speaks well of him.  No one stands higher in the community than he does.”