that other choice spirit, Captain Oliver, cutting capers on the landing, and evidently prepared to d camp at a moment's notice, if any emissary from Milly appears upon the scene.
"Milly says———" I begin, rebukingly.
"I know," says Fane, swinging me round to his side in a manner that may be indicative of brotherly affection, but certainly is not good for my gauze trappings.
"Now, Nell, did you ever see so much back as that before?"
Following his example, I crane my head and body over the banisters until I nearly precipitate myself into the hall below, and am rewarded by the sight of a dowager, who looks as though her enemy had assaulted her from the rear, and robbed her of half her clothes.
"The older she gets," says Fane, "the more she shows; and the Lord only knows what further revelations Time may have in store for us!"
"She couldn't go much farther," I said, comfortingly. "I never knew before that middle-aged people's backs were of a rich coffee colour, did you, Fane? Who is that shambling little man?"
"Bareback's husband. She might wear him as a bustle, and never know he was there."
The stream below widens, swells; people come pouring past in tens and twenties, sleek, and clean, and glossy, freshly powdered, freshly crimped, freshly smiling. What a pity that they will all be so draggled, and hot, and untidy in two hours' time! Fat mammas, portly papas; pretty young girls, well preserved old ones; young boys, old boys, middle-aged boys; women white-backed, yellow-backed, brown-backed; women dressed by Elise, women dressed by themselves, well-groomed, ill-groomed, over-dressed, under-dressed, and not dressed at all. Truly it is a "motley crowd," and from our vantage ground we criticize them with the unripe sarcasm of our not over-wise youth.
