wailed of desolation, or Isaiah thundered the wrath of heaven, they would not hear,—they would go on looking at each other's dresses.
What could Paul himself say that would change them?
You cannot make saw-dust into marble; you cannot make sea-sand into gold. "Let us alone," is all they ask; and it is all that you could do, though the force and flame of Horeb were in you.
Mila, Countess de Caviare having arrived early in the morning and remained invisible all day, had awakened at five to a cup of tea, an exquisite dressing-gown, and her choicest enamel; she now gave many bird-like kisses to her cousin, heaped innumerable endearments upon her, and hearing there was nothing to do, sent out for a box at the French Theatre.
"It is wretched acting," said the Lady Hilda; "I went the other night but I did not stay half-an-hour."
"That of course, ma chère," said Madame Mila; "but we shall be sure to see people we know,—heaps of people."
"Such as they are," said the Lady Hilda.
