114 IN A WINTER CITY.
Then she rose suddenly with an impatient
sigh, and went into her bedroom, and found
fault with her maids: they had put Valen¬
ciennes on her petticoats, and she hated Valen¬
ciennes—no other lace had been so cheapened
by imitation; they had put out her marron
velvet with the osfrich feathers for that day's
wearing, when they shoiUd have laid out the
sUver-grey cloth with the Genoa buttons; they
were giving her glace gloves instead of peau
de Suede ; they had got out Pompadour boots, and
she requfred Paysanne shoes ; it was a fine dry
day. In point of fact, eveiything was wrong, and
they were idiots, and she told them so as strongly
as a high-bred lady can demean herself to speak.
Each costume was put aU together—dress, bon¬
net, boots, gloves—everything; what business
had they to go and mix them aU up and make
everything wrong ?
Her maids were used to her displeasure; but
she was very generous, and if they were Ul or
in sorrow she was kind, so that they bore it
meekly, and contented themselves with complain*
ing of her in all dfrections to thefr alUes.