fan;
she was adorably beautiful and adorably pale, and she floated through
the red glare, along the scarlet line, to the weary-looking man in
maroon breeches, like some wonderful white bird of downy plumage. He
kissed her on both cheeks; and she passed away to the farther door,
where her train was caught up and handed to her by two aides-de-camp. He
had seemed to salute her with deference and warmth; his kiss was more
than ceremonial, and eager looks passed between the ladies-of-honour
standing on the estrade; the great bouquet of red-coats placed in the
middle of the floor, animated by one desire, turned its sixteen heads to
gaze after the wonderful vision of blonde beauty that had come--that had
gone. Mrs. Barton experienced an instant thrill of triumph, and advanced
into the throne.

In the composition of her dress she had given range to her somewhat
florid taste. The front was brocade, laid upon a ground of grey-pink,
shot with orange, and the effect was such as is seen when the sun hangs
behind a lowering grey cloud, tinged with pink. On this were wonderful
soft-coloured flowers, yellow melting into pink, green fading to
madder-like tints. The bodice and the train were of gold-brown velvet
that matched the gold-brown of the hair. Mrs. Barton was transformed
from the usual Romney portrait to one by Sir Peter Lely; and when she
made her curtsy, Her Excellency's face contracted, and the
ladies-of-honour whispered: 'The harm she does her daughters . . . I
wonder . . .'

'Miss Violet Scully, presented by Mrs. Scully,' shouted the Chamberlain.

Now there was an admixture of curiosity in the admiration accorded to
Violet. Hers was not the plain appealing of Olive's Greek statue-like
beauty; it was rather the hectic erethism of painters and sculptors in a
period preceding the apogee of an art. She was a statuette in biscuit
after a design by Andrea Mantegna. But the traces of this exquisite
atavism were now almost concealed in the supreme modernity of her
attire. From the tiny waist trailed yards of white faille, trimmed with
tulle ruchings, frecked as a meadow with faintly-tinted daisies; the
hips were engarlanded with daisies, and the flowers melted and bloomed
amid snows of faille and tulle.

The Lord-Lieutenant leaned forward to kiss her, but at that moment of
his kiss the thunder crashed so loudly that he withdrew from her, and so
abruptly that Her Excellency looked surprised. The incident passed,
however, almos