set on one side of her head; Lancret might have painted her on a fan, or Fragonard on a cabinet; she was just going to drive out with five carriages full of her friends to a picnic at Guido Salvareo's villa; they were to dine there, play lansquenet there, and come back in the small hours; they had all postillions, silk-jacketted, powdered, and with ribboned straw hats; the horses were belled, and the bells were jingling in the street; Madame Mila was in the most radiant spirits; she had won five hundred napoleons the night before, and had them all to adventure over again to-night.
"Do come with us, Hilda," she urged. "You do nothing but go those stupid long drives by yourself; it is very bad for you; and it will be charming to-day; Salvareo has such taste; it is really quite romantic to sit upon those anemones, and have the goats come and stare at you; and he always does things so well, and his cook is so good. Do come with us; I am sure it would do you good."
Lady Hilda looked up from the S. Ursula, which she was finishing:
