You've leave to spend what you want, and you're never fit to be seen.

There's Mary there taking thirty pounds a year from me, and won't have a penny more, though she's heartily welcome to it, and she looks a lady at any moment of the day." Selina drew herself up, and her eyes narrowed a little.
"You're talking about what, you don't understand, pa," she answered with dignity.

"If you prefer Mary's style of dress"-- she glanced with silent disparagement at her cousin's grey skirt and plain white blouse--"well, it's a matter of taste, isn't it?
"Taste!" Mr.Bullsom replied, contemptuously.

"Taste! What sort of taste do you call that beastly rug on your shoulders, eh?
Or your hair rolled round and just a pin stuck through it?
Looks as though it hadn't been brushed for a week.

Faugh! When your mother and I lived on two pounds a week she never insulted me by coming down to breakfast in such a thing." Selina eyed her father in angry astonishment.
"Thing indeed!" she repeated.