Often then I see clothes with manifold pleats, frills and appendages which fit so smoothly on to lovely bodies I think they won't keep that smoothness long, but will get creases that can't be ironed out, dust lying so thick in the embroidery that it can't be brushed away, and that no one would want to be so unhappy and so foolish as to wear the same valuable gown every day from early morning till night.

And yet I see girls who are lovely enough and display attractive muscles and small bones and smooth skin and masses of delicate hair, and none the less they appear day in, day out, in this same natural fancy dress, always propping the same face on the same palms and letting it be reflected frm the looking glass.

Only sometimes at night, on coming home late from a party, it seems in the looking glass to be worn out, puffy, dusty, already seen by too many people and hardly wearable any longer.