themselves to be as admirably proficient in the mazy steps as if they had studied under a Coulon or a D'Egville.
Mr. Bouncer had particularly noticed one female patient, who was past middle age, and whose dress, although much faded and worn, betokened, together with her manner and appearance, that she had once moved in a class of society superior to that of the generality of her companions. At luncheon, she sat apart from them, by the side of the matron; and, when the dancing began, she withdrew to a lower part of the hill, where, turning her back on the gaiety, she sat down on the grassy slope, and, screening herself from the sun with a large, old-fashioned parasol, looked sadly over the landscape spread beneath her. Mr. Bouncer pointed her out to Dr. Dustacre, and asked who she was.
"She is a widow; Mrs. Flabby by name," replied the Doctor. "She came to the asylum some years ago, when I was in charge of it. She has seen better days, and been in a superior position; but a series of reverses that befel her family and fortune unsettled her reason. I fancy that she had no great strength of mind, even in her best and earliest days; but she is perfectly quiet and calm, and has never exhibited the least violence. She can be controlled by a word, or even by a threat to deprive her of her parasol; and, as you may have noticed, she keeps up her dignity, and does not mix much with her companions, although she is always polite to them. She usually sits apart, and rarely converses, except with the matron or nurses, or with the medical staff."
"I don't like to see her moping alone, and not enjoying herself like the others," said Mr. Bouncer. "Would
