he extreme of gorgeous fashion,
and who, after being landed on the marble steps, was for some moments
absorbed in the fluttering arrangement of her plumage; smoothing her
maroon pelisse, shaking the golden riband of her emerald bonnet, and
adjusting the glittering pelerine of point device, that shaded the fall
of her broad but well-formed shoulders. In one hand the stately dame
lightly swung a bag that was worthy of holding the Great Seal itself,
so rich and so elaborate were its materials and embroidery; and in the
other she at length took a glass which was suspended from her neck by
a chain-cable of gold, and glanced with a flashing eye, as dark as her
ebon curls and as brilliant as her well-rouged cheek, at the surrounding
scene.

The green parrot, in its sparkling cage, followed next, and then came
forth the prettiest, liveliest, smallest, best-dressed, and, stranger
than all, oldest little lady in the world. Lady Bellair was of childlike
stature, and quite erect, though ninety years of age; the tasteful
simplicity of her costume, her little plain white silk bonnet, her grey
silk dress, her apron, her grey mittens, and her Cinderella shoes,
all admirably contrasted with the vast and flaunting splendour of
her companion, not less than her ladyship's small yet exquisitely
proportioned form, her highly-finished extremities, and her keen
sarcastic grey eye. The expression of her countenance now, however, was
somewhat serious. An arrival was an important moment that required all
her practised circumspection; there was so much to arrange, so much to
remember, and so much to observe.

The portly serving-man had advanced, and, taking his little mistress in
his arms, as he would a child, had planted her on the steps. And then
her ladyship's clear, shrill, and now rather fretful voice was heard.

'Here! where's the butler? I don't want you, stupid [addressing her
own servant], but the butler of the house, Mister's butler; what is his
name, Mr. Twoshoes' butler? I cannot remember names. Oh! you are there,
are you? I don't want you. How is your master? How is your charming
lady? Where is the parrot? I don't want it. Where's the lady? Why don't
you answer? Why do you stare so? Miss Temple! no! not Miss Temple! The
lady, my lady, my charming friend, Mrs. Floyd! To be sure so; why did
not you say so before? But she has got two names. Why don't you say
both names? My dear,' continued Lady Bellair, addressing her travelling
compa