"Oh, I can assure you, Mrs. Dale, she had scarcely any waist covering at all," said Mrs. Smyth, in disgust, "she looked simply dreadful."
"Who is the woman this time, dear?" asked Mrs. Gower, amusedly, as she fastened some camellias to her gown; "what fair one are you throwing mud at now, Lilian?"
"Oh, that Mrs. St. Clair. Miss Hall walked down with me as far as College Street this morning, and she says, or rather mouthed, for she is too full of affectation to speak plain, but managed to convey that Mrs. St. Clair's dress began too late during the Langtry season. Her dress was couleur de rose (what there was of it), no sleeves, well there was an invisible band, Miss Hall said (I wondered at her, the way she talked, as she is so thick there). Now, what do you think of Mrs. St. Clair, Elaine?"
"I think that she would be the cynosure of all eyes—men's, for she is very fair to look upon."
"But, Elaine, she is enamelled! Miss Hall's description reminded me of how an American paper describes such—as if they in their opera boxes sat in a bath tub."
"Oh, that's hard," said Mrs. Dale; "who was she with, and was the boy Noah ready with his pinchers?"
"No, it was that horrid boy's night off, I suppose, for his father was on duty; the little wretch nearly gave me cancer; the two Wilber girls and our Mr. Buckingham were the party; oh, Elaine, it's most absurd, but Mr. Buckingham is the 'foreign count' gossip said Mr. St. Clair is jealous of."
"I am not surprised; all Grundy's scandal brews are a froth of lies, Lilian."
"But it is true that Mrs. St. Clair flirts and enamels."
"If so, she is very pretty, and has a husband with an eagle eye—and," she added gaily, "a son with claws that even you speak feelingly of."