'How do you do, Olive? How do you do, Alice? and you, Mrs. Barton, how do you do? And what are you going to wear? Have you decided on your dress?'
'Oh! That is a secret that could be told to no one; oh, not for worlds!' said Mrs. Barton.
'I'm sure it will be very beautiful,' replied Mrs. Scully, with just a reminiscence of the politeness of the Galway grocery business in her voice.
'I hear you have taken a house in Fitzwilliam Square for the season?' said Mrs. Barton.
'Yes, we are very comfortable; you must come and see us. You are at the
Shelbourne, I believe?'
'Come to tea with us,' cried Violet. 'We are always at home about five.'
'We shall be delighted,' returned Mrs. Barton.
Mrs. Scully's acquaintance with Mrs. Symond was of the slightest; but, knowing that claims to fashion in Dublin are judged by the intimacy you affect with the dressmaker, she shook her warmly by the hand, and addressed her as dear Mrs. Symond. To the Christian name of Helen none less than a Countess dare to aspire.
'And how well you are looking, dear Mrs. Symond; and when are you going to take your daughters to the Castle?'
'Oh, not for some time yet; my eldest is only sixteen.'