“What did you think of the sermon today, Letty?”
“Not much,” answered Letty. “I am not fond of finery. I prefer simplicity.”
Augustus held his peace bitterly. For it was just finery in a sermon, without knowing it, that Letty was fond of: what seemed to him a flimsy syllabub of sacred things, beaten up with the whisk of composition, was charming to Letty; while, on the contrary, if a man such as they had been listening to was carried away by the thoughts that struggled in him for utterance, the result, to her judgment, was finery, and the object display. In excuse it must be remembered that she had been used to her father’s style, which no one could have aspersed with lack of sobriety. Presently she spoke again.
“Gus, dear, couldn’t you make up your mind for once to go with me to Lady Ashdaile’s tomorrow? I am