I have deferred making it till now, so that I may appear in perfect dainty freshness, as if I had just emerged from the manifold silver papers of a bandbox, before him when he arrives--that not a hair of my flax head may be displaced from its silky sweep; that there may be no risk of Vick jumping up, and defiling me with muddy paws that know no respect of clothes.
I take a long time over it.

I snub my maid more than I ever did in my life before.

But I am complete now; to the last pin I am finished.
Perhaps--though this does not strike me till the last moment--perhaps I am rather, nay, more than _rather_, overdressed for the occasion.

But surely this, in a person who has not long been in command of fine clothes, and even in that short time has had very few opportunities of airing them, is pardonable.
You remember that it is February.

Well, then, this is the warm splendor in which I am clad.