“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
All of the apparel which this full grown and round-limbed woman needed to cover herself and keep her warm could have been crammed into a man's overcoat pocket—or nearly so. It is the cause of perpetual amazement, this superiority of the female over the male in her ability to go through life with a minimum of clothing and a maximum of expense. Every one of us—I refer of course to my masculine readers, who alone are interested in Mrs. Trevelyan’s boudoir—would have been wearing under the same circumstances several thick layers of wool and a shirt as heavy and impenetrable as a steel breastplate. Some day, if she lives long enough, Lily Trevelyun may be wearing the same things, but when she does, although she may be able to vote, her power will be gone.
“What a horrid night!” she cried, irritably, swinging to the door with a bang that made the lights flicker in their sockets. “Fantine| Do you see any lines under my eyes?”
“Mais, non! Madame!” expostulated the maid, as she deftly removed her mistress’s coat and hat.
“I know you ’re lying to me!” she answered,204
