They were indeed fine. The ladys in all manners of colours chiefly oringe and green idly sipped up rich wine from some mugs, many smoked without a stop, there were arms and backs and fronts all bare, some frocks with tails to them, and some dames wore trouzer things, very bright and sloppy, much to Mr. Withersquashes surprise. Several kinds of men were dotted about, some in evening close, some like soldiers and many with long locks or pale fat face as though in grief [12] ]which were the artists. The walls however were done up very high class in coloured paints and not at all how you would expect in gentlepeoples places. Such were the scene and the lights were low.
“And how much did your dead unckle leave?” kindly asked a magnificent man of foreign stile.
“Oh a few millions,” replied Mr. Withersquash.
At that the assembly seemed quite cordiel and all pressed forward to shake hands. A gent in kaki drew Selia to a well-stuffed couch altho eyeing her white embrey dress in amaze and embracing her politely began to have a nice chat. Mr. Withersq on the other hand when he saw it was the thing, after a litel also embrased a few of the lushous women one by one, but now and then he gave a good wink of glee over their shoulders to Selia.
[13] “Ha, ha,” he thought to himself. “Money always talks.”
Now the gent who had asked Mr. Withersq how much his unckle left came up to the sofa on which Selia sat, and leaning on its stuffed arm, bent and smiled in her eye.
For this the gent in kaki frowned aside, gnawing his lip for he had little or no moustache to do it with.
“You have the advantage of me!” cried Selia coyly to this new face, to which the foreign newcomer replied in a damp voice: “I am Tzpcham, the times plastick avetar.”
“How nice!” replied Selia, brightly, at which he smiled faintly, so she felt they were getting on. She was always one to want to quickly pick up the tricks was Selia.
“My name is Selia,” she added, with a soft giggle for his sake.