However, Captain Hibbert would be a fairly good match.  He was of excellent family, had two thousand a year, and a place in the country and in England too.  But why snatch up the very first fish that came by?  There was no saying whom they would meet at the Castle.  Still, to encourage a flirtation could be no harm.  If they met anything better, it could be broken off; if they did not, it would be a very nice match indeed.  Besides, there was no denying that Olive was a little too naive in her manner.  Captain Hibbert’s society would brush that off, and Olive would go up to the Castle with the reputation of having made a conquest.

Such were Mrs. Barton’s thoughts as she sat, her hands laid like china ornaments on her lap; her feet were tucked under the black-pleated skirt, and she sometimes raised her Greuze-like eyes and looked at her daughter.

The girls were grouped around a small table, on which stood a feather-shaded lamp.  In clear voices and clear laughs they were talking of each other’s dresses.  May had just stood up to show off her skirt.  She was a superb specimen of a fat girl, and in a glow of orange ribbons and red hair she commanded admiration.

’And to think she is going to waste her time with that dissipated young man, Mr. Scully!’ thought Mrs. Barton.  Then Olive stood up.  She was all rose, and when, laughing, with a delicious movement of the arms, she hitched back her bustle, she lost her original air, and looked as might have done the Fornarina when not sitting in immortality.  It was the battle of blonde tints:  Olive with primroses and corn, May with a cadmium yellow and red gold.

‘And now, Alice, get up and let’s see you!’ she cried, catching hold of her sister’s arm.

Still resisting, Alice rose to her feet, and May, who was full of good nature, made some judicious observations.

’And how different we all look from what we did at the convent!  Do you remember our white frocks?’

Alice’s face lit up with a sudden remembrance, and she said: 

’But why, Lady Sarah, haven’t we seen Cecilia?  I’ve been thinking of her during dinner.  I hope she is not ill?’

’Oh, dear me, no!  But poor Cecilia does not care to come down when there is company.’

‘But can I not see her?’

’Oh, certainly!  You will find her in her room.  But you do not know the way; I will ring for my maid, she will show you.’

At this moment men’s voices were heard on the staircase.  The ladies all looked up, the light defining the corner of a forehead, the outline of a nose and chin, bathing a neck in warm shadow, modelling a shoulder with grey tints, sending a thousand rays flashing through the diamonds on the bosom, touching the finger-rings, and lastly dying away amid the folds of the dresses that trailed on the soft carpet.  Mr. Ryan, walking with his habitual roll and his hands in his pockets, entered.  His tie was under his