Yet we were vastly genteel.  We even had our shibboleth, a verdict to be passed before anything could hope for toleration in Troy.  The word to be pronounced was “Cumeelfo,” and all that was not Cumeelfo was Anathema.

So often did I hear this word from Miss Limpenny’s lips that I grew in time to clothe it with an awful meaning.  It meant to me, as nearly as I can explain, “All Things Sanctioned by the Principles of the Great Exhibition of 1851,” and included as time went on—­

     Crochet Antimacassars. 
     Art in the style of the “Greek Slave.” 
    “Elegant Extracts,” and the British Poets as edited by
     Gilfillan. 
     Corkscrew Curls and Prunella Boots. 
     Album Verses. 
     Quadrille-dancing, and the Deux-temps. 
     Popular Science. 
     Proposals on the bended Knee. 
     Conjuring and Variety Entertainments. 
     The Sentimental Ballad. 
     The Proprieties, etc., etc., etc.

The very spirit of this word breathed over the Limpenny drawing-room to-night, and Miss Priscilla’s lips seemed to murmur it as she gazed across to where her sister Lavinia was engaged in a round game with the young people.  These were Admiral Buzza’s three daughters, Sophy, Jane, and Calypso—­the last named after her father’s old ship—­and young Mr. Moggridge, the amusing collector of customs.  They were playing with ratafias for counters (ratafias were cumeelfo), and peals of guileless laughter from time to time broke in upon the grave silence of the whist-table.

For always, on such occasions, in the glow of Miss Limpenny’s wax candles, Youth and Age held opposite camps, with the centre table as debatable ground; nor, until the rubber was finished, and the round game had ended in a seemly scramble for ratafias, would the two recognise each other’s presence, save now and then by a “Hush, if you please, young people,” from the elder sister, followed by a whispered, “What spirits your dear girls enjoy!” for Mrs. Buzza’s ear.

But at length the signal would be given by Miss Priscilla.

“Come, a little music perhaps might leave a pleasant taste.  What do you say, Vicar?”

Upon which the Vicar would regularly murmur—­

“Say, rather, would gild refined gold, Miss Limpenny.”

And the Admiral as invariably broke in with—­

“Come, Sophy! remember the proverb about little birds that can sing and won’t sing.”

This prelude having been duly recited, the Misses Buzza would together trip to the piano, on which the two younger girls in duet were used to accompany Sophia’s artless ballads.  The performance gained a character of its own from a habit to which Calypso clung, of counting the time in an audible aside:  as thus—­