The Venetians by Mary Elizabeth Braddon — Read

Sophy arrived next day with portentous punctuality, in time for luncheon, intent on pleasure, and dressed in a style which she believed in as the very latest Parisian fashion; for this damsel credited herself with an occult power of knowing what was "in" and what was "out," and, with no larger horizon than a country church and an occasional rustic garden-party, set up as an authority upon dress, and gave her instructions to the village dressmaker, who made up ladies' own materials, and worked at ladies' houses, with the air of a Kate Reilly directing an apprentice.

Eve had been very generous, and Sophy's costume was a great advance upon those days when Lady Hartley had talked of the sisters as Colonel Marchant's burlesque troupe. Eve had sent down a big parcel of materials from a West End draper's, the newest and the best, and Sophy had exercised her fingers and her taste in the confection of stylish garments; yet it must be owned there was an unmistakable air of home dress-making -- of fabrications suggested by answers to correspondents in a ladies' newspaper -- about those smart gowns, jackets, capes, and fichus which Sophy wore with such satisfaction. This showed itself most in an unconscious exaggeration of every fashion; just as a woman who rouges exceeds the bloom of natural carnations. Sophy's Medici collars were higher than anybody else's. The military collar of Sophy's home-made tailor gown was an instrument of torture. Sophy's waistcoats and sleeves were more mannish and sporting than anything the West End tailors had produced for Eve. In a word, there was a touch of Sophy's personality about every garment; just as in every picture there is the individuality of the painter.