the end of ten minutes; "they are the finest whites."
"So long as they remain white they do very well; but when they venture upon color!" his wife replied. She sat with her eyes on a level with the skirts of the ladies who passed her; and she had been following the progress of a green velvet robe, enriched with ornaments of steel and much gathered up in the hands of its wearer, who, herself apparently in her teens, was accompanied by a young lady draped in scanty pink muslin, embroidered, æsthetically, with flowers that simulated the iris.
"All the same, in a crowd, they are wonderfully well turned out," Dexter Freer went on; "take the men, and women, and horses together. Look at that big fellow on the light chestnut: what could be more perfect? By the way, it's Lord Canterville," he added in a moment, as if the fact were of some importance.
Mrs. Freer recognized its importance to the degree of raising her glass to look at Lord Canterville. "How do you know it 's he?" she asked, with her glass still up.
"I heard him say something the night I went to the House of Lords. It was very few words, but I remember him. A man who was near me told me who he was."
"He is not so handsome as you," said Mrs. Freer, dropping her glass.
"Ah, you 're too difficult!" her husband murmured.
