street, in a very large crinoline, and a very long dress of pale
silk, which floated after her along the dirty pavement, much, I
remember, to my admiration. Above this was some tight-fitting thing with
a good deal of lace about it, which was crowned by a fragile and flowery
bonnet, and such a tuft of white lace at the end of a white stick as
just sheltered her nose, which was aquiline, from the sunshine. She was
prettily dressed for an open carriage, a flower-show, or a wedding
breakfast; for walking through the streets of a small, dirty town, to
change her own books at the library, her costume was ludicrously out of
place, though at the time I thought it enviably grand. The way in which
a rich skirt that would not wash, and would undoubtedly be worn again,
trailed through dust and orange-peel, and greengrocers' refuse, and
general shop-sweepings, was offensive to cleanliness alone.

"Is she ill?" Eleanor asked.

"No," said Matilda; "I don't think so. Why?"

"She walks so slowly," said Eleanor, gazing anxiously at Mrs. Perowne
out of her dark eyes, "and she is so white in the face."

"Oh, my dear!" said Matilda, laughing, "that's puff--puff, and a white
veil. It's to make her look young. I heard Mrs. Minchin tell Mamma that
she knew she was thirty-seven at least. But she dresses splendidly. If
you stay over Sunday, you'll see her close, for she sits in front of us
in church. And she has such a splendid big scent-bottle, with gold tops,
and such a lovely, tiny little prayer-book, bound in blue velvet, and a
watch no bigger than a shilling, with a monogram on the back. She took
it out several times in the sermon last Sunday, so I saw it. But isn't
her hair funny?"

"It's a beautiful colour," said Eleanor, "only it looks different in
front. But I suppose that's the veil."

"No, it isn't," said Matilda; "that's the new colour for hair, you know.
It's done by stuff you put on; but Miss Perry said the worst was, it
didn't always come out the same all over. Lots of ladies use it."

"How horrid!" said Eleanor. "But what makes her walk so slow?"

"Well, I don't know," said Matilda. "Why should she walk quick?"

Eleanor seemed struck by this reply, and after a few minutes' pause,
said very gently, with a slight blush on her cheeks, "I'm afraid I have
been walking too fast for you. I'm used to walking with boys."

We earnestly assured her that this was not the case, and that it was
much better fun to walk with her than