“Here 's Miss Kennyfeck, by Jove!” cried Jennings, as she crossed the hall. “We have all been dying to see you; pray come here and give us your counsel.” And he led her into a small drawing-room, where, around a table covered with prints and colored drawings of costume, a considerable number of the guests were assembled.
“For mercy's sake, nothing out of the Waverley novels!” said the blond lady. “I am wearied of seeing the Jewess Rebecca wherever I go.”
“Well, I'll be Diana Vernon, I know that,” said Miss Meek; “you may all choose how you please.”
“But you can't be, my love, if we have the 'Midsummer Night's Dream,'” said Mrs. White.
“Why can't I, if Charley takes Osbaldiston?” said she.
“Because they are not characters of the piece.”
“Nobody cares for character in a masquerade!” said Linton.
“Or if they have any, they put a mask over it,” said Lady Janet
“I vote that we are all Tyrolese peasanths,” lisped the fat and dumpy Mrs. Malone. “It's a most picthuresque costhume.”
“What will you be, Sir Andrew?” cried another, as the old general passed the door in a dog-trot, with Flint behind him.