Page:Comin' Thro' the Rye (1898).djvu/218

210 There is no denying it—I like to feel important! or rather, I think I should if I ever got the chance—for I never had one yet. I do not want to be married for years and years; but if I could have all the nice, pleasant, dignified surroundings that married women have, without being obliged to take the husband, I should like it. Now, if I happen to get smashed up to-day, there is no one to gather my pieces together, or acquaint my friends of my demise, or give me decent burial. I shall be simply an unattended, unappropriated female, and of no account whatever. I am proud to say that I do not bear a bandbox, a bag, and a sheaf of umbrellas and parasols, as is the wont of most unmarried females: I have only one bonnet, and that is in my box, and in a bad way, I fear; for finding the trunk would not close, I sat down on the contents with much vigour, forgetting the bonnet in my excitement; and to-morrow morning I shall be a sorrowful sight to see. We wanted to buy a new one—mother and I; but an empty purse stared us sternly in the face, and forbade the purchase. Next to being hungry, I wonder if there is any misfortune, short of death, equal to that of an empty purse? To be ill in body is bad, to be ill in mind is worse, but for real downright, biting unpleasantness, and bitterness of soul, commend me to the empty pocket! I fancy Nick hates to see us penniless as heartily as we hate to see ourselves he knows it is so easy for us to get into mischief when we have gold, so hard to distinguish ourselves in his court without it. I wonder how many extravagances and naughtinesses have been nipped in the bud for lack of the glittering dross? Well, if I do possess a sneaking love for smart clothes (is not love of dress one of his distinct and evil promptings? does he not ruin body and soul by hundreds every day, for the sheen that lies on a satin, the lustrous bloom on a silk, and the fairy cobwebs of a priceless lace?) it is pretty plain I cannot indulge it.

How hungry I am! In the breathless hurry-skurry of my de-