Dred.
Chapter I.
the mistress of canema.
"Bills, Harry?—Yes.—Dear me, where are they?—There!—No. Here?—O, look!—What do you think of this scarf? Isn't it lovely?"
"Yes, Miss Nina, beautiful—but—"
"O, those bills!—Yes—well, here goes—here—perhaps in this box. No—that's my opera-hat. By the by, what do you think of that? Isn't that bunch of silver wheat lovely? Stop a bit—you shall see it on me."
And, with these words, the slight little figure sprang up as if it had wings, and, humming a waltzing-tune, skimmed across the room to a looking-glass, and placed the jaunty little cap on the gay little head, and then, turning a pirouette on one toe, said, "There, now!"
"There, now!" Ah, Harry! ah, mankind generally! the wisest of you have been made fools of by just such dancing, glittering, fluttering little assortments of curls, pendants, streamers, eyes, cheeks, and dimples!
The little figure, scarce the height of the Venus, rounded as that of an infant, was shown to advantage by a coquettish morning-dress of buff muslin, which fluttered open in front to display the embroidered skirt, and trim little mouse of a slipper. The face was one of those provoking cases which set criticism at defiance. The hair, waving, curl-
