. And, as for dear Mrs. Symond,
there is no one like her. She knows the truth about everybody. Here she
comes,' and Mrs. Barton rushed forward and embraced a thin woman with
long features.

'And how do you do, dear Mrs. Barton, and how well you are looking, and
the young ladies? I see Miss Olive has improved since she was in
Dublin.' (In an audible whisper.) 'Everyone is talking about her. There
is no doubt but that she'll be the belle of the season.' (In a still
audible, but lower tone of voice.) 'But tell me, is it true that--'

'Now, now, now!' said Mrs. Barton, drowning her words in cascades of
silvery laughter, 'I know nothing of what you're saying; ha! ha! ha! no,
no--I assure you. I will not--'

Then, as soon as the ladies had recovered their composure, a few
questions were asked about her Excellency, the prospects of the Castle
season, and the fashions of the year.

'And now tell me,' said Mrs. Barton, 'what pretty things have you that
would make up nicely for trains?'

'Trains, Mrs. Barton? We have some sweet things that would make up
beautifully for trains. Miss Cooper, will you kindly fetch over that
case of silks that we had over yesterday from Paris?'

'The young ladies must be, of course, in white; for Miss Olive I should
like, I think, snowdrops; for you, Mrs. Barton, I am uncertain which of
two designs I shall recommend. Now, this is a perfectly regal material.'

With words of compliment and solicitation, the black-dressed assistant
displayed the armouries of Venus--armouries filled with the deep blue of
midnight, with the faint tints of dawn, with strange flowers and birds,
with moths, and moons, and stars. Lengths of white silk clear as the
notes of violins playing in a minor key; white poplin falling into folds
statuesque as the bass of a fugue by Bach; yards of ruby velvet, rich as
an air from Verdi played on the piano; tender green velvet, pastoral as
hautboys heard beneath trees in a fair Arcadian vale; blue turquoise
faille fanciful as the tinkling of a guitar twanged by a Watteau
shepherd; gold brocade, sumptuous as organ tones swelling through the
jewelled twilight of a nave; scarves and trains of midnight-blue
profound as the harmonic snoring of a bassoon; golden daffodils violent
as the sound of a cornet; bouquets of pink roses and daisies, charmful
and pure as the notes of a flute; white faille, soft draperies of tulle,
garlands of white lilac, sprays of white heather, delicate and res