"Why, Daisy Randolph! is it possible that's you? Is it Daisy
Randolph? what have you done to yourself? How you _have_
improved!"
"She is very much improved," said Miss Bentley more soberly.
"She has been learning the fashions," said Miss Lansing, her
bright eyes dancing as good-humouredly as ever. "Daisy, now
when your hair gets long you'll look quite nice. That frock is
made very well."
"She is changed —" said Miss St. Clair, with a look I could
not quite make out.
"No," I said, — "I hope I am not changed."
"Your dress is," said St. Clair.
I thought of Dr. Sandford's "_L'habit c'est l'homme_." "My
mother had this dress made," I said; "and I ordered the other
one; that is all the difference."
"You're on the right side of the difference, then," said Miss
St. Clair.
"Has your mother come back, Daisy?" Miss Lansing asked.
"Not yet. She sent me this from Paris."
"It's very pretty!" she said; with, I saw, an increase of
admiration; but St. Clair gave me another strange look. "How
much prettier Paris things are than American!" Lansing went
on.
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