"Be just as gracious in your manner to a practised _roué_, (provided he has the entrance into good society,) as you would to a man deserving a woman's respect. Dispute with your sempstress about a ninepence, and buy a thousand dollar shawl. Present the bouquet your _last_ admirer sent you, to the next one who looks into your 'starry eyes!' Dance all night, sleep all day, and waltz with anybody who is the '_ton_.'"
This is one of Fanny's most life-like word-paintings.
"It is only a little pauper! Never mind her. You see she knows her place, and keeps close to the wall, as if she expected an oath or a blow. The cold winds are making merry with those thin rags. You see nothing of childhood's rounded symmetry in those shrunken limbs and pinched features. Push her one side, _she's used to it_; she won't complain; she can't remember that she ever heard a kind word in her life. She'd think you were mocking if you tried it.
"She passes into the warm kitchen, savory with odorous dainties, and is ordered out with a threat by the portly cook. In the shop windows she sees nice fresh loaves of bread and tempting little cakes. Rosy little children pass her, on their way to school, well-fed, well-clad and joyous, with a mother's parting kiss yet warm on their sweet lips.
"There seems to be happiness enough in the world, but it never comes to _her_. Her little basket is quite empty; and now, faint with hunger, she leans wearily against that shop window. There is a lovely lady, who has just passed in. She is buying cakes and _bon-bons_ for her little girl as if she had the purse of Fortunatus. How nice it must be to be warm, and have enough to eat! Poor Meta! She has tasted nothing since she was sent forth with a curse in the morning, to beg or--steal, and the tears _will_ come; there is happiness and plenty in the world--but _none for Meta_!
"Not so fast, little one! Warm hearts beat sometimes under silk and velvet. That lady has caught sight of your little woe-begone face and shivering form. Oh! what if it were _her_ child?--and, obeying a sweet maternal impulse, she passes out the door, takes those little benumbed fingers in her daintily gloved hands, and leads the child, wondering, shy and bewildered, into fairy land.