312 The Young Lady's Book. 



This was a very mysterious announcement. Lady Mary, after 

 looking earnestly, first at her aunt, and then at Penelope, as if 

 she were desirous of reading an explanation in their eyes, ex- 

 claimed : ' Escaped notice, aunt ! I cannot conceive what you 

 mean.' 



' Why, it would seem, child,' was the old lady's reply, ' that 

 the arrangement and decorations of your boudoir, have, in some 

 degree attracted his admiration ; although for my own part to 

 speak candidly, — and you know I love you equally, — Penelope's 

 seems to me by far the more preferable of the tw^o ; indeed, with 

 one or two alterations, it might be pronounced perfect.' 



' The fault of Penelope's boudoir,' said Lady Mary, 'is su- 

 perlative neatness : it looks as prim as herself ; casting a glance 

 round it, your first feeling of admiration at its order is subdued in 

 an instant, by a disagreeable conviction of the pains it must have 

 cost her to drill her little squadrons of embellishments so as to 

 produce such an effect. My dear Pen ! you may smile, but you 

 are positively as precise as a mathematician : old Euclid seems to 

 have been school master to the Graces who preside at your toilet. 

 But would you believe it ? ' added the lively Lady Mary, turning 

 to the Editor, ' notwithstanding she dresses in drab, and looks 

 demure, cousin Penelope, Sir, I can assure you, is as brilHant as 

 possible on a birthday ; for when she does condescend to be 

 splendid, I must confess, that few, if any of us, eclipse her.' 



'Yet allow me to remark,' said Penelope, ' that the rich and 

 profuse negligence which reigns in your boudoir is the result of 

 thrice the toil that I have employed in decorating mine.' 



' That is true enough, Penelope,' said Lady Mary, while a 

 slight blush tinged her cheek ; ' but the toil you speak of is not 

 apparent. I look upon my boudoir (pardon the comparison) as 

 upon a fine ])icture, in which those splendid dashes of light, which 

 charm us, — those fine touches of brilliant beauty that seem to fall 

 from a mass of foliage to gild the bold edge of a ruin, and finally 

 descend to illuminate and ennoble a daisy, — appear to have been 

 the work of a moment ;' — 



' Or, to help you with a more high-flown simile, Lady Mary,' 

 said her cousin, w^ho was now turning over a portfolio of engrav- 

 ings, ' they seem to have been produced by the Muse of Paint- 

 ing, at a single dash of her brush newly dipped in the fountain of 

 light!' 



' And yet,' continued Lady Mary, smiling at Penelope's simile 

 ' they are, in fact, produced only by labor, both of the mind and 

 the hand. This apparent carelessness of arrangement has, I ad- 

 mit, cost me considerable pains; but everybody admires the ef- 



