The Argosy — page 267: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

248 Court Netherleigh. member this, and the commotion it wrought. It was not the ordinary passion for finery that obtains in the beau monde, more or less, at all times, that Is prevailing now, but something worse—different. In truth it was a very madness; and it ruined thousands. Few had fallen into this insidious snare as completely as Mrs. Oscar Dal- rymple. Bred up in the country, in simplicity and comparative seclusion, London and its attractions had burst upon her with irresis- tible power, dazzling her judgment, and taking captive her senses. The passion for dress had been born with Selina. No wonder, therefore —example is so contagious, rivalry so rife in the human heart—that it had, with its means of gratification, seized frantic hold of her; just as another passion had formerly seized upon and destroyed her unfor- tunate brother. Not caring particularly for her husband, the world’s homage had become as second life to her vain (and somewhat empty) mind ; and of course she must dress accordingly and go out at all times and seasons armed for conquest. At breakfast gatherings, in afternoon visits; at teas, I was going to say, but kettledrums had not then come into vogue; in the park, at dinners, at the play, and in the ball-room, she would be conspicuous for the freshness and beauty of her toilette. Does the reader remember a remark made by Miss Upton, of Court Netherleigh? ‘Selina Dalrymple is fonder of dress than a French doll. Lack of sense, and a love of finery, often go together.” Poor Oscar Dalrymple, knowing nothing of the mysteries of a lady’s toilette, or its cost, was content to admire his wife’s, as did other men. And, it may be, that no thought ever intruded itself into Selina’s mind of the day of reckoning that must inevitably come. CHAPTER XI. WITH MADAME DAMEREAU. Mrs. Oscar DALRYMPLE’s carriage stopped at the door of Madame Damereau. Other carriages, waiting for their ladies, drew aside for it, and Mrs. Dalrymple descended. Rather tall, very elegant, her dress of delicate lilac silk, flounced to the waist, became her well, and her rich white lace mrantle became that. ‘The Damereau footman threw open the door for her, and she went up to the show-room. A lady in plain black silk, but than which nothing could be more rich of its kind, with a small cap on her head of costly lace, and lappets of the same, disengaged herself from a group, to whom she was talking, and came forward, bowing; such bows that only a Frenchwoman can achieve. It was Madame Damereau. A clever-looking woman, with a fair skin, and broad smooth forehead. What could she have the honour of doing to-day for Madame Dal- reemp? Mrs. Dalrymple scarcely knew. If put upon her conscience, she Gomichboo SS (C(O)